Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE PT3
by felicityphoenix
Summary: Felicity has been snatched away by Forsythe, but he is NOT the only danger she faces! What condition will Ben ultimately find her in, and will their love survive time and terror? Read the dang story and find out!
1. Chapter1: One Moment's Weakness

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, PT.3 Ch.1: One Moment's Weakness...

Author's Note: The battle for America's independence is over. But Felicity's battle has just begun! Who can save her? Or will she simply have to save herself the only way she believes she can? Felicity Merriman has gone to war. Brace yourself!

Now here you go again, you say you want your freedom/ Well who am I to keep you down?/ It's only right that you should play the way you feel it/ But listen carefully to the sound/ Of your lonliness, Like a heartbeat drives you mad/ In the stillness of remembering what you had, and what you lost/ And what you had, and what you lost/ Oh, thunder only happens when it's raining/ Players only love you when they're playing / Say women, they will come and they will go/ When the rain washes you clean, you'll know/ You will know -lines from 'Dreams' by Fleetwood Mac

* * *

Ben Davidson had never felt so sick in all of his life. Sick in his heart, sick in his soul. His entire life, his very future, had just shattered like glass. She was gone. Just utterly gone. The only evidence that she had even been there that morning was his signal whistle, laying there in the dirt, still tied together at its string ends, but seemingly broken in another place on the cord. And where she had been upon her knees in front of the steps to the store (begging to be heard, pleading for understanding), there were footprints larger than her dainty ones, all about her kneeling place.

And then Ben Davidson knew.

After he had blown up at her, practically devastated her into shock, called her a whore and just left her crying there, he'd gone to the nearest watering hole to drown his anger, self-pity and disgust into as much liquor as he could hold. That watering hole just happened to be the Wetherburn Tavern, just a few buildings down from Merriman's Store. He had burst into the closest door, teeth clenched, fists clenched, eyes full of fury, and demanded the strongest drink in the house be brought to him in the corner of the room. He'd had every intention of getting piss-drunk and damning Felicity Merriman from his life forever.

The bar-keep had brought him a tall tankard of the house's strongest ale as he sat there in the room's corner sulking, brooding and feeling quite murderous. He completely ignored the curious looks he was getting from the tavern's patrons, for all he could do was stew upon was the heart-destroying betrayal of the young woman he thought he had loved.

But if he had only thought that he loved her, then the betrayal would not be hurting so much.

"How's that girl of yours this mornin', Ben?" the bar-keep had asked him, for the older man had known Ben since the beginning of his apprenticeship in Williamsburg. "Any better?"

"I would rather be left alone, if you don't mind," Ben had muttered tensely, grinding the short fingernails of one hand into the table's polished surface.

"Sure, Ben," the bar-keep had replied easily, setting the ale tankard down. "Just wanted to know if that ill-mannered Gooch-fella caused any more trouble for the lass."

Ben stopped in mid-reach for his drink, glaring up at the older man. "_Who_?"

"Gooch. Overheard 'im talkin' to Miss Felicity and Mr. Pratt last night. Fella just wouldn't let 'em leave until they had a drink with 'im! I've seen men who loved their liquor, but I aint never seen a man practically force a sweet young lady to take part in a drinking toast when she was clearly not in good spirits."

Ben winced, his stormy brown eyes scrutinizing. "What did you say the man's name was?"

"'Gooch.' Ever heard the like before? He's one of them hunters from up North, I heard 'im say. Got loud when he started drinkin' last night. Heh! He seemed to be the only one wantin' to make a celebration. Your gal an' Mr. Pratt looked like he was givin' 'em the thunderin' shudders!"

Ben frowned harder. _"Whatever that man-that Mr. Gooch-put in our drinks had made Arthur and me very ill..."_

The bar-keep interrupted his thoughts. "So I was just wantin' to know if Miss Felicity got home safe and sound, that's all." He leaned toward Ben and lowered his voice. "He left just as soon as she and Arthur Pratt did, and you know me, Ben: I don't ever get nosy 'bout folks unless they act strange. This big fella was 'bout as strange as that Forsythe-Loyalist that used to hang around!"

There had been a cold, hard knot growing in the pit of Ben's stomach as soon as the old bar-keep had said the name Gooch. The name Forsythe had made the super-sensitive hairs on the back of his neck stand up faster than a soldier snapping to attention.

_"Forsythe had it done!"_

And then another voice, sinister and knowingly prophetic, oozed into his head: _Knowing you, you will not realize what is happening until it has already happened. All brawn and no brain. No wonder this will be so easy. You cannot say that you were not warned. Followed tauntingly by, You will not be marrying Felicity. You may even find yourself not wanting to!_

And then he'd suddenly gone frightfully cold from scalp to toe, sitting there staring out into empty space.

The bar-keep scratched his chin. "Come to think of it, that Mr. Gooch and your Mr. Pratt friend were sittin' at this very table when Miss Felicity came in. She already looked troubled before she met the big fella!"

Ben's brown eyes bored into the grey ones of the bar-keep. "Quick, Mr. Lewis-tell me, does this Gooch-person work for Reginald Forsythe?"

"Don't know, Ben. He just showed up one day, wantin' to drink alot. Wouldn't surprise me if he did! Can't imagine why he'd be so interested in your lass and Mr. Pratt, of all people!" Someone seated closer to the tavern's door was calling him for attention, so Mr. Lewis turned to leave. "Glad to see you, Ben. Hope Miss Felicity is well and rid of that curious rouge!"

Ben was staring at the table-top with such a ferocious look that the bar-keep kept glancing back over his shoulder at him with concern. Ben's hand was on the tankard, but the young cavalry captain had not lifted it to drink. Then suddenly Ben was up on his feet, striding over to Mr. Lewis, pulled the man away from the table of four waiting men, and breathed rapidly, "Mr. Lewis, did this Gooch-person, by any chance, do anything to Arthur Pratt's and Felicity's drinks? Did you see him do anything at all that might have affected what they drank?"

Mr. Lewis looked contamplative, considering. Then slowly, uncertainly, he replied, "No...but my eye wasn't on him all the time. I had other customers waiting on refills, and of course I turned my back. If he'd wanted to add any 'cannon-kick' to their mugs without me seein' it, then he had plenty of opportunity, Ben. Sure would explain the way they looked as they was leavin' the building!"

"Like how?"

"Pratt was lookin' like he was sleep-walkin', and Miss Felicity looked like she could hardly hold her head up. I was worried about the both of 'em gettin' home, seein' as how they were both mighty wobbly. And then that Mr. Gooch gets up and leaves like he was in a big hurry all of a sudden." He studied Ben's unreadable face with a touch of curiosity. "You know, that Arthur Pratt usually comes in of an evening to get a hot toddy and a piece of mince-meat...he never does order anything heavy. Not even last night. There wasn't enough rum in my nog to tipsy a skunk! But why would a rough-neck like that Gooch want to cause trouble for those two young folks? He aint their kind of company!"

Ben's mind was reeling so hard that he slapped one hand to his forehead and the other grasped Mr. Lewis's arm to steady himself. "Oh my God," he moaned ominously. "Oh my God, Lissie!"

"What's the matter, Ben? Do you need to fetch a constable?"

Ben was already striding out of the nearest door. "N-No, I don't know, I -I just have to find Felicity!" And he was gone without ever having touched a drop of his ale.

As he broke into a run, his mind spun faster than it ever had as a soldier. His hip began to hurt, reminding him that he was still not completely healed of getting shot, but he forced himself on, for it was quite possible Felicity had been telling the truth. He heard Elizabeth's wretchedly sobbing voice in his head: "And they were both undressed, just getting out of the bed!"

Because of the shock, he had not asked Elizabeth any questions at all about what she did indeed see. He had just reacted like he was still in the Legion, trained to attack and ask questions later, if there were any survivors. He had seen Elizabeth's face in devestation, heard the girl's cries and been struck by her agony-how could Elizabeth have been mistaken?

It _was _possible...wasn't it?

Elizabeth's plight was conflicting with all that he had just learned from Mr. Lewis, who Ben had known for yonks, and who had always been friendly, trustworthy, observant of his customesrs, like a bar-keep needed to be in order to stop trouble fights before they started. He could spot a Loyalist a mile off! He had no reason to lie, either. If Lewis said a strange man was behaving suspiciously with Felicity and Arthur, how could _he _be mistaken as well?

Rather than give in to all the terrible, nasty, most destructive thoughts he'd ever had in his life, he wanted to get to the bottom of this whole fiasco. He decided to question both Felicity and Elizabeth...and Arthur Pratt, wherever the hell he was. Find this odd Mr. Gooch and question him, too. He really should not have passed judgement without knowing all of the facts first. Felicity did look so bizarrely sick. A mug of rum-nog would not have that kind of effect on a person like that. He himself had become well acquainted with various liquors whilst drinking with his fellow cavalrymen to know how much it took to get piss-drunk.

Sometimes a person really could not trust their eyes!

When he had returned to the back of Merriman's Store, Felicity was gone. But at first Ben Davidson had not thought to panic, figuring she had just run home or to Elizabeth's house, even. But then he saw the signal whistle on the ground, the strong leather cord broken...the large footprints all around the place where she had been kneeling.

And then he knew.

So there he was, standing and staring intensely at the signal whistle in his hand, feeling the chills of horror and fear scramble all up and down his spine. Feeling as though God Himself had socked him in the gut with His Almighty Fist.

Before Ben Davidson could make another move or draw another breath, Caleb Haverty came panting in a jog from the other side of the building. The older man was obviously out of shape and had forced himself to hurry. His rounded cheeks were very red. When he saw Ben standing there as if frozen, he slowed, bent over with his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. "Sorry I'm late, boy-" wheeze "-Stopped by the Merriman house to check in-" gasp "-Merriman's trying to stand up, says he wants you home right this minute-" wheeze "-Lil' Nan says she saw Felicity, and that the girl was desperate-crazy to find you-"

"I know!" Ben strode forward and grasped the man's shoulder in near-panic. "He has her, Mr. Haverty!"

"Huh?"

He held up the signal whistle urgently as Haverty stood up straight to look. "He _has _her!"

"Who, the doodle-dandy? Forsythe?" Of _course _Caleb Haverty would know who 'he' was! And Haverty knew that Felicity Merriman would never take that beloved little whistle off of her person of her own free will. That cord would never be broken unless..."Where in hell is he?"

Ben's guts lurched with horrible dread. "I don't know! Last night Lady Templeton said she found a note from him saying that he had left for New York that very morning!"

"Awww...!" Haverty clapped a hand to his forehead and rolled his eyes. "You know that don't mean _shit_, boy! Not where that rat's concerned!"

"Mr. Haverty, we've got to find her, we've got to hurry! I'm afraid Elizabeth Cole and I have accused her and Arthur Pratt of something that they were not responsible for, and now it may be too late to..." To what? All sorts of horrible, nightmare scenarios were flashing thorugh his head at breakneck speed.

"Well let's not just stand here, jawin', boy, we'll have explanations a-plenty later! We'll find that little worm and Felicity first!"

"Aye!" Ben agreed breathlessly. "I'm going back out to Templeton Mannor and demand to search the place from top to bottom!"

"All right, you do that. I'll go back to the Merriman's and tell 'em all you told me, and if I stumble over a constable along the way, I'll drag 'im along with me!"

"Good!" Ben took off at once, still gripping the signal whistle in his hand. He knew he was beginning to panic, for with each step he took he was more and more convinced Felicity was telling the truth and now she was in terrible danger. Elizabeth just had to be mistaken about what she saw! Forsythe was right: he did not know what was happening until it had already happened. He wanted to be violently sick. Damned little weasel planned it all out, right down to the smallest detail. _He knew how I would react...because I am a hot_-_head and full of myself_! _Oh_, _Lissie_, _if anything's happened to you I'll just die_!

* * *

'Twas horrible luck Ben had at Templeton Manor when he returned. Not only was Lady Templeton even more upset to have heard from her kitchen chef (who'd been to the market) that her nephew had been spotted in town just this morning in the company of Mr. Smedley and some big burly man who was dressed like a hunter, but after much laboring, a black servant had finally broken into Forsythe's private chambers upstairs, and Lady Templeton showed Ben what she had found inside of it. A most startling momento left behind: the painting of the angel that bore a striking resemblance to Felicity Merriman.

"That painting was given to him by his governess when he was a young boy," the Lady stressed worriedly, wringing her handkerchief in her hands. "Just before she died. I'd seen it just a few times before, but until I really looked at it this morning I did not know where I had seen that face before! The resemblance is astonishing, is it not?"

Ben did not reply, for he was appalled. Shock-striken and appalled. He gaped at the painting hanging above the mantel of the room's ornate fireplace, utterly speechless. The resemblance was, indeed, the most remakable thing Ben Davidson had ever seen. 'Twas as if it were Felicity herself, crimson hair streaming, clad in brilliant robes of red and gold and looking ever so ethereal.

"They...they say the young woman in the painting is Reggie's late governess, Miss Lucille Elswick, and the man who painted the portrait was the man she was leaving to marry in London. I do not know all of the details surrounding Miss Eliswick's death, exactly, for my poor sister Prudence was extremely distraught..." Lady Templeton seemed to be struggling with her emotions or thoughts inside somewhat. The manner in which her expresion turned increasingly worrisome finally broke Ben's morbid fascination with the painting.

The lady tugged upon his closest arm, drawing him over to one of the chamber's tall windows as if wanting to speak to him in private even though they were the only two people in the room. "Captain Davidson," she began, her voice lowered and full of hesitancy, "It has not escaped my attention that my nephew has harbored an intense fascination for Miss Merriman for quite some time now. I thought perhaps it would have passed when he returned to England to see into his late father's business, but when he returned to Virginia..." She was indeed struggling, obviously getting fretful, for the absent wringing of her handkerchief intensified. "Well...you should know, Captain...Reggie ha-has never been a completely normal child..." Ben drew his breath in, trying to keep his composure, trying to prepare himself for whatever revelation the Lady was obviously working herself up for. He was damned impatient to get back to finding Felicity. If she was going to tell him that ten of England's best physicians had declared her nephew to be sick in the head, then he wasn't going to even pretend to act surprised.

"You see, he was always starved for attention as a boy;his father was nearly always away on business and his mother-my dear sister, God bless her poor soul! was either in a state of nerves of emotional distress, for as the youngest of my sisters Prudence was never in good health. But Reginald suffered from lack of decent parental regard and turned to the servants of the house for attention and his needs. Namely his governesses. They came and went like the seasons, I tell you! And they all indulged him verily, I'm afraid. They literally spoiled him. Of course his father didn't care a whit whatsoever, seeing as how this 'spoiling' kept the boy out of his father's way when he was home. But he seemed to have favored Miss Elswick more than any of the other governesses. So much so, that..." She was having difficulty again. "Captain Davidson, I am truly suspicious that he...oh, goodness-I have suspected all of these years that perhaps, maybe, he had something to do with Miss Elswick's death!"

Ben inhaled sharply. "Ma'am...why are you telling me this?"

The Lady pulled on her handkerchief distressfully. "Forgive me, Captain, but I am still trying to make sense of Reginald's erratic behavior myself! All I mean to say is, well, he has always been spoiled and demanding, and he will not take 'no' for an answer. And if he has his sights set on Miss Felicity..."

"_'If'_?" Ben was growing sickly impatient, shifting about uncomfortingly. "With all due respect, ma'am, I would say he is dead set on having my fiance for himself!" Again he glanced at the portrait over the mantle. His rage to get Forsythe by the neck grew and grew unlike never before. "Would you believe it if I told you that he is suspected of having Mr. Merriman shot and of concocting a scheme to get us all distracted so that he could snatch Felicity away?"

Lady Templeton gasped, clasping her hands together. "Merciful heavens! Oh Captain Davidson, that is just appalling! I do indeed believe that Reggie is capable of such malevolent deciet! Oh, I hate to think the worst of my own flesh-and-blood relation, but I cannot deny that he is capable of such maliciousness! Please, Captain Davidson, what is to be done?"

Ben had already started for the chamber's exit. "We have to find Felicity and that sonof-your nephew, and fast! Every minute they are not located is another minute Felicity is in more danger!" _No thanks to me_, he added in his mind, bitterly.

"Yes, I agree!" The Lady scurried after him in a blur of tiny rapid footsteps in contrast to the young captain's long strides. "I shall turn out every servant in the house to help in the search!"

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Oh I hope he does not intend to harm dear Miss Felicity! She is such a sweet, spirited little thing! I hope he is not taking her to New York!"

Ben came to a halt so fast out in the corridor that Lady Templeton nearly plowed right into him she was following along so close. He had spun, and, ettiquette be damned, gripped the aging woman's shoulders. "What?"

"T-To New York!" she stammered unsteadily, a hand flying to her heart. "I would not put it past him to try to take Miss Felicity to New York! The city is safer there for Loyalists, and for the longest time he has corresponded with someone who lives there-"

Ben's heart was up in his throat with panic. "He wants to take Felicity to New York?"

"Well, ye-yes, I-I assume that is where he intends to go. I d-don't believe he would risk taking her back to..."

Ben's brown eyes widened in absolute horror. Bristol? As in Bristol, _ENGLAND_? Surely not! "God only knows where he is taking her, Lady Templeton! That is why we must find them before he can take her away anywhere! Have your people search everywhere they can think of!" He whirled and started for the winding staircase, his pulse banging like a hammer on an anvil in his ears.

"Yes, yes of course!" The Lady was hard on his heels again. "Do keep me informed, Captain, and I shall do the same for you and the Merrimans! Oh dear, oh dear..."

Ben broke into a run just as soon as he was off the bottom step. Instinct was screaming at him to grab the first horse he came to and start off for the northern roads that led out of town-to make for any road that led out of town to catch Forsythe before he could get away with Felicity. The frustration of there existing only one of Ben Davidson was an insane taunting on Ben himself, for he knew there were many ways out of town in all directions, and he was simply incapable of being everywhere at once! He wanted to be the one to find Felicity, so that he could hold her and kiss her and tell her how sorry he was. Make things right between them again. He wanted to be the one to find Forsythe so that he could kill him on the spot.

He was back on Duke of Gloucester Street in a matter of minutes running the way he did, intending to stop at the Merriman house and get Penny reined without taking time to put on a saddle, and taking off for the roads north, but he saw Marcus running towards him, waving frantically to get his attention.

"Mista Ben!" he called, jogging to a halt in front of the young captain. His dark forehead was glistening with the sweat of a morning of being constantly on the run. "You just got to come home this instant! Mista Edward says not to come home without ya!"

"And I cannot go home without Felicity!" Ben told him determinedly.

"Oh please Mista Ben," panted Marcus desperately, "I'm done beat out! I caint do nuthin' useful with two o' you white folks yellin' at me!"

Under different circumstances, Ben would have grinned and relented right away, for Marcus had long since ceawsed being a slave and was now one of his most valued friends. 'Twas wrong to demand more of a man than he could give. But Felicity's life was in terrible danger and time was passing rapidly. The love of his life was slipping further and further away by the second. "Then come with me, Marcus! Help me find Felicity! Forsythe has her and I think he means to take her to New York, and then from there even to England!"

"Englan'? He wants to take Miss Lissie to _Englan'_?" The tall black man slapped a hand to his forehead, nearly knocking off his tricorn. "Lord above! Mista Edward's heart's gonna plum give out when he hears that!"

"We've got to find her, Marcus, before that bastard can get away!" He started out in a stride, but Marcus grabbed his arm pleadingly.

"But you just got to come home first and see Mista Edward, Ben! You got to! He knows best, you know that! He'll know what we gonna do!"

Ben clenched his teeth in manic frustration, feeling as if he was being torn in a hundred different directions all at once. "Well...I-I suppose so..."

"C'mon, Ben!" Marcus tugged on his arm urgently. "Like you say, time's a-wastin'!"

Ben could not agree more. He ran with Marcus back to the Merriman house, with a prayer in his heart that by some miracle Felicity would already be there, safe and sound, but as soon as he came through the front door, Nan came flying out of the parlor, her face fretful. Obviously, Felicity was not here. Ben's heart sank like sickened lead.

"Where is she?" Nan cried, striding right up to him at once. "Where is my sister?"

Before Ben could reply, Mr. Merriman's voice rang from the parlor: "Ben! Come in here! Hurry!"

He did, not wanting to linger even a second more under Nan's fearful gaze. A gaze he knew without looking directly at was tinged also with fury. He was already drowning in his own guilt enough as it was. He hurried past her, leaving her there at the entrance and breezing into the parlor. Amazingly, Mr. Merriman was indeed standing up on his own two feet, albeit with help from his wife and a long wooden crutch under his right arm. He was pale and weak, seemingly strained, but that familiar Merriman determination shone in his blue eyes brilliantly. He wore a clean white shirt of homespun, completely unbuttoned for easy access to his wounds, which were heavily bandaged in clean white dressings.

"Please, Edward, so sit down now, he is here," Mrs. Merriman entreatied with a waver in her voice that proved she was near to her own limit of emotional fatigue and worry. She held to her husband as tightly as she could without causing him further pain or aggravation. However, she, too, seemed to be in need of having someone hold her up.

"Dearest, I cannot lay nor sit when so much is at stake," Edward told his wife as gently as he could, seeing as how his side hurt from the musket-shots.

Ben's throat tightened.

"Here, Ben, read this," Mr. Merriman panted, removing his hand from his wife's shoulder, revealing the crinkled parchment he was tightly holding. As Ben took it, unfolded it, Mr. Merriman breathed, "Yesterday, young Henry Moon found Jiggy Nye dead in his home, sitting in a chair behind his desk with a fatal shot in his chest. After you read that, you can probably assume who shot him."

Ben gulped. He could sense this was leading up to something dreadful. Something hideous that had to do with Felicity and Forsythe. Why else would Edward Merriman be so urgent and risking his health to stand up when, by rights, he should be lying down and avoiding all manner of stresses?

"You know that Constable Wallace came by to see me in the night, not long after you and Marcus left to look for Felicity the first time? Well, he had been searching the scene around Nye's house and the room he was found in, looking for clues as to who the murderer is, and he found poor Jiggy's hand resting on top of this note that you have."

With heavy dread in his heart, Ben straightened the parchment, and with uneasiness in his voice, read aloud the hastily scribbled contents: 'Merriman, overheard Forsythe plot to trap your girl and Pratt in vile plot so as to steal F. out of town. Hired man called Gooch to kill B.D. but shot you instead. Must be stopped. Gooch wants to wed F...' It was signed shakily with just the name "Nye." Ben's breath had suspended. He felt detatched from his own body, whirling out of control in a world of horrorible realization. Felicity, without a doubt, had been telling the truth! This Gooch-person put something in her and Arthur's drink to make them insensible, and then put them in a bed together to be found so that the worst could be assumed.

And all it took was one moment's weakness to take Felicity away from him. One moment of doubt had cost him his entire life. Forsythe had won.

"As you have read, Forsythe has had this planned, and probably for a long time," Mr. Merriman breathed with exertion. "I knew the little blackard was up to something, but I had no idea..."

"I accused her," Ben murmured, feeling dangerously on the edge of despair, as they all were. "I found her at the back of the store when I went to meet Mr. Haverty at noon. And I accused her...because Elizabeth had found her and Arthur...together...and I accused her of what Elizabeth mistook for-"

"Oh, Ben, you didn't!" Mrs. Merriman half-cried woefully. "Nan said Lissie was sick and frightened of something Elizabeth thought she and Arthur had done...But you, Ben, surely _you _knew better!"

There were tears in her eyes, and in Ben's eyes as well. "I know, I know! Believe me, ma'am, I am more sorry than words can express! But I've got to find Felicity now and stop Forsythe from hurting her!"

"Ben," Mr. Merriman said, with that familiar, composed rationality he always managed to maintain in times of crisis, "This is not the time to stand around feeling guilty about anything. Now, from what Haverty said of what all you had told him, plus what I know from Constable Wallace, we know that Forsythe does indeed have Felicity." He inhaled, his efforts to remain conducted an obvious struggle. "We know very well he wishes to marry her, and in order to do that, he would have to remove her from town because no man of God present here would marry a pair without going through all of the formal, required steps, and he certainly would not marry a couple when one of them is unwilling. We all know that Felicity will fight him. If she can get away from him, she will as soon as she can."

"She can't sir, not if she is still sick!" Ben said, heartsick himself. Mrs. Merriman closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip, struggling to remain calm.

"I know not to underestimate my daughter, Ben," reminded Mr. Merriman firmly. "If she can move, sick or not, she will fight him. Now-you may not believe it, but I feel strongly that Forsythe does not want to harm her, but marry her-"

"Forgive me, sir, but marrying her _is _the same as hurting her!" Ben was visibly shaking in outrage, blinking back tears.

Mr. Merriman sighed tensely. "We're not helping her any by falling apart. Now listen to me, Ben. I want you to go to Elizabeth's house and bring her back with you. Arthur Pratt will most like be there, so bring him back as well. Even if you have to drag the both of them, then do so. If Elizabeth's parents want to come too, then all the better! Just get Beth and Arthur here as soon as you can and by any means necessary."

Ben's mouth dropped open. "But sir! I need to be out looking for Felicity!"

"I know how you feel, Ben, but I need you to stay close because I cannot physically do anything at all." His gaze went past the striken former apprentice to Marcus, who was standing in the parlor doorway looking as if he already knew what was expected of him. "Marcus, my friend, will you please take Patriot and go to the Haverty house, tell Caleb all that is happening, and that if he will, I would like for him to organize a search party to check all of the roads going north out of Williamsburg as far as they are willing to go. Tell them to look for a carriage, because that is what Forsythe would use to get her and himself out of town discreetly-and anyone else associated with his vile scheme!"

"That Smedley is supposed to be with him!" Ben put in quickly. "And a burly-built hunter called Gooch!"

Martha Merriman inhaled shakily. "And take William with you, Marcus. He can ride Penny. He's explored those roads many times looking for his buried treasures."

Mr. Merriman, Marcus and Ben all looked at her in surprise. She looked at her husband, sniffed away threatening tears, and tried to sound brave. "You have said so yourself, Edward: He is quite a remarkable, resourceful boy. Let him help."

"Aye, love," agreed Edward softly, slipping his arm around her waist and drawing her as near as he could without hurting his side. "Will you, Marcus?"

"Yessuh! I'm already out th' door!" And indeed he was, calling for William as he went for the front door. Wiliam, never being far from the important conversations taking place, ran after him.

"Please, sir, can't I go, too?" Ben begged, gesturing at the doorway impatiently.

"No, Ben I've told you. I need you to get Elizabeth and Arthur and bring them here. Then I will tell you all what I have in mind. Reginald Forsythe is not the only one who can come up with a plan!"

This seemed to satisfy Ben at least a little. He nodded to his former master and spun on his heel. He dropped the crinkled piece of parchment on the coffee table, the note that was the last meaningful words of Jiggy Nye. It did not sink in to Ben that he had been the B.D. who had been the intended target according to that note. All of his energies were concentrated on getting Felicity back. He prayed that Mr. Merriman knew what he was doing, and that the older man had a good plan to get her home. He tried very hard to reassure himself of that.

Little did anyone realize the actuality of Forsythe's plan, however. He had taken the eastern road to Yorktown and boarded the ship that he had arranged to come for him from New York there. What there was left of Yorktown was still abuzz with Patriot and French soldiers, but any Loyalists wishing to leave the colonies were given the clearance to board non-military vessels to leave. And he had been given his clearance, for his fiance "who had swooned from emotional distess" needed to be on board as soon as possible so that she could rest. No one was really aware of just how anxious Reginald Forsythe was to get his chosen bride away.

A storm of guilt and desperate thoughts was raging in Ben's mind. He was going through every 'what if' and 'If only' he could think of. Every bit of his being insisted that he be out looking for Felicity on his own, but he would do as Mr. Merriman told him to do because he trusted the older man's instincts over his very own. So he found himself striding up the pebble path to the Coles' front door, where a shaken, rumpled-looking Arthur Pratt was sitting on a porch step, mussed blond head sunk in his hands.

Ben felt yet another pang of guilt slice through him. Arthur, too, was a victim. To think that the likeable, innocent young lad had been unknowingly swept up in that madman's scheme was absolutely appalling. "Arthur Pratt!" Ben called to get his attention.

"Huh?" Arthur looked up, his cheeks red where they had been pressed into his hands for so long. He saw Ben Davidson come strding up the path towards him and jumped up on his feet, suddenly full of breathless energy. "Benjamin! Felicity has found you? Did she tell you all that has happened? That she and I...that-that-"

"Yes, Arthur, I heard!" Ben glanced at the Cole house windows. "But I heard it from Elizabeth first, and she told me how she found-"

"Then you do _not _know the truth!" Arthur counter-interrupted, looking just as ill as Felicity had when Ben last saw her. Obviously, it was the physical effect of this tainted drink, for one of the young Brit's hands held his stomach the way Felicity had done. "Elizabeth was mistaken! If you had truly seen Felicity, then she would have explained the situation and you would not be here to thrash me!"

"Arthur, get ahold of yourself, I am not here to thrash you, all right? I did see Felicity, but I did not believe her story, and now-"

"Oh no?" Arthur gulped in surprise. "Then prepare to defend yourself, young Benjamin, for though I am violently ill, I am prepared to defend my own honor as well as that of my dear friend, for we are innocent of this evil scheme to ruin our good names!" And thus he put up his fists as if to box, although clearly he was unskilled in the arts of physical violence, and began to hop around Ben like a lunatic rabbit. "I say!" he continued as he bounced about with his fists up. "Prepare to spar!"

"Arthur, will you please quit hopping around and listen to me?"

"Nay, I shant! I am no fighter, but I have seen it done! I have seen sparring betwixt fine, fighting Irishmen of mighty clans and amazing repute!"

If the circumstances were different, Ben would have been rolling on the ground in a fit of laughter spasms. But life itself seemed to be crumbling and every moment that passed in nothingness was yet another moment wasted. When Arthur hopped in front of him, he grabbed the younger lad by the shoulders and hollored, "Arthur, stop! Felicity is missing.!"

Arthur stopped, gaped, and grabbed his stomach.

"Forsythe has her!" Ben continued desperately. "I did not believe her when she needed me to, and now he has her! Marcus and Caleb haverty are out with men looking for her now, but Mr. Merriman wants to see you and Elizabeth at once!"

Arthur seemed to lose what little color there was left in his face. He held up a finger. "One moment, please," he told Ben thickly, then turned and bent over the Cole's neatly trimmed boxwood hedges to retch uncontrollably. Ben grimaced, knowing that Felicity was just as sick as he was, wherever she was. "Good Lord, what _is _that muck?" Arthur murmured weakly of his own regurgitations, then swayed forward.

Ben grabbed hold of Arthur's shoulders, pulled the sickened lad up, for fear that he might topple right over the hedges like that. "Come on, Arthur, Mrs Merriman will take care of you." He glanced at the window nearest to the Cole's front door, and as he believed he had seen when he arrived, saw again Elizabeth peeping out at them through the slats of the blinds. When she saw him looking at her, she immediately shrank back. Ben sighed. It was not going to be easy to convince her that what she had seen earlier this morning was not the truth. She was convinced of the worst just as he had been. Surely Elizabeth would listen to him.

"Can you hold yourself together, Arthur, while I get Elizabeth?" Ben asked, worried that if he let go of the young Brit, he would drop to the ground like a dollop of jelly.

"I-I-I suppose so," Arthur stammered miserably, blinking deliriously. "My constitution seems to be shaken somewhat, Benjamin. Oh-oh dear!" He whirled away from Ben as fast as he could, back to the boxwood hedges and retched some more. Ben chose that opportunity to get Elizabeth to the door, seeing as how the boxwoods would keep the young Brit off of the ground until Ben could grab him back up.

"Elizabeth!" he shouted loudly and urgently, stepping up to the front door and commencing to pound the hell out of its brass dorrknocker. "Elizabeth Cole, you come to this door this instant!" When there was no reply and no sounds of motion, he hollored, "Elizabeth, it's Ben! I need to see you right NOW!"

"No!" came Elizabeth's persistent cry.

"Oh yes! What you saw earlier was not what it seemed!"

The door flew wide open and Elizabeth stood there, eyes red and puffy from crying, blond hair out of place and her lacy mobcap crooked-all from being face-down in a pillow, no doubt. "I should have known!" she spat, folding her arms tightly against herself. "Men always support one another against a woman! And _you_, knowing that your fiance, my former best friend-!"

"Elizabeth, be quiet and listen!" Ben interrupted hastily, as behind him Arthur had begun to cry whilst still being bent over the boxwoods. Ben clenched his teeth and yelled "Last night both Arthur and Lissie drank something that was tainted on purpose by a man working for Forsythe-some kind of poison that has made them both very sick and rendered them unconscious so that they could be put in the same bed together without their clothing so that it would look like they had betrayed us!"

"Oh ho! Do you really expect me to believe such a farce?" she yelled back hotly. "You know that Arthur and Felicity have always had a special bond between them! They just decided to act upon it last night and plead intoxication this morning! Who would have thought to look for them in the house he and I were supposed to share as husband and wife? Me-who, that is who! And to think I would never have thought to look there if-if-"

"If 'what', Elizabeth?" Ben urged frantically, stepping up on the porch to be face-to-face with her. "Did someone tell you where to find Lissie and Arthur?"

Elizabeth had unexpectedly been caught off-guard by a revelation in her own ranting. She sniffed, put a hand to her cheek. "We-Well...well, yes! I had just decided to return to the Merriman house becuase I had searched for them everywhere else I could think of, and this-this man saw me coming. I guess I must have looked a-fright, because he stopped me and asked me if I was feeling well..."

The level of panic in Ben's heart and mind soared to an all-new high. "What did the man look like, Beth? Tell me!"

"He-he was b-big and burly, with a raccoon-skin cap on his head. He was dressed in furs and fringe, like hunters wear."

"Oh my God. _OH _my God!" Ben moaned, slapping a hand to his eyes. "How could I have ever doubted-how could I just leave her-?" Behind him, Arthur started throwing up again. "Elizabeth, please, what did this man say to you?"

Elizabeth swallowed uncertainly. "Well, he said I looked like I just lost my best friend, and I said 'Funny you should say that, because I have! My best friend and my fiance are both missing and have been all night!' And he said, 'Well what do they look like? Maybe I have seen them,' so I described Felicity and Arthur to him, and he said 'Why, I saw a pair fitting just that description a few hours ago, going into that nice brick house someone is fixing up over there on Nicholson Street.' I knew then the house he was talking about, so I thanked him and ran off. And that is where I found Arthur and Felicity-"

"Did the man give you his name?" Ben blurted, thinking not that it matters now, 'tis obvious who the man was...

"No, of course not!" Elizabeth snapped, becoming irate again. "That is of no importance! What is, is that I did indeed see-"

"Elizabeth Cole, it was this Gooch-person Felicity was trying to tell me about, and who Mr. Lewis at the Wetherburn Tavern confirmed it was! Don't you see? This Gooch works for Reginald Forsythe, and now Forsythe has Felicity!"

"_Has _Felicity?" Elizabeth frowned, once more being taken off-guard. "Has her where?"

"That's just it, Beth, I don't know! I saw her a couple of hours ago, and I accused her of betraying us, left her behind Merriman's Store, and went to Wetherburn's Tavern, where Mr. Lewis told me all about what he saw happen to Felicity and Arthur last night! Look Beth, there's plenty lots to tell you, but Mr. Merriman has ordered me to bring you and Arthur back to the house, and I mean to do just that! So I can get back out and look for Lissie, before Forsythe can get her to New York!"

"New York?" Elizabeth exclaimed, confused. Ben had taken ahold of her nearest arm in his steely grip and was hauling her off of the porch before she could collect her wits. "You let go of me, Ben Davidson! I am not going anywhere with you and my decietful, former ex-"

"Oh yes you are! Even if I have to conk you insensible and flip you over my shoulder in order to do so! Come along, Arthur, you can regurgitate on the way." Since Arthur wasn't wearing a coat, Ben grabbed the bent over lad by the band of his breeches and hauled him up.

Mr. Cole had appeared in the doorway of his home, with his wife close behind. Mrs. Cole had both of her hands up to her mouth in surprise. He called after Ben, "You there! Unhand my daughter at once! She is through with Arthur Pratt as well as the Merriman girl-!"

"Oh no she isn't!" Ben called back over his shoulder, not letting Elizabeth's constant struggling and Arthur's knock-kneed wobbling slow him down in the least. "Arthur and Felicity are innocent! The proof is at Mr. Merriman's house! If you want to know the complete truth, follow me and see for yourself!"

Mr. and Mrs. Cole looked at each other and blinked in surprise. Ben Davidson was not about to slow down and wait for them, and not knowing what else to do, they hurried out the door, leaving it ajar in their haste to catch up with the fiery young cavalry captain. But 'twas not as if they had left the house unattended. There was Dolly, as well as three other Cole house-servants...and there was also Annabelle Cole herself.

She had seen and heard everything from one of her open, upstairs bedchamber windows. For a while it had only been Arthur Pratt, pleading and bawling-when he wasn't throwing up, that is- but the moment she had heard Ben's voice, she had dropped the letter from the Major Basil Crumb she had just recieved, and flown to the window to see him. Oh, he was still such a handsome sight! With his head of gorgeous brown hair, his tight black breeches, and his sinewy, well-toned physique!

Felicity Merrriman simply did not deserve him.

But now Felicity Merriman was in a heap of trouble. A cold chill unrelated to the autumn air shimmied down her spine. It had taken Ben faster than she had expected to find out the truth. Much faster. But yet...but yet no one knew all of the facts, apparently, for no one had hollered at her to come downstairs yet!

Annabelle sat down on her pretty bed with its pink rose-patterned sheets and stared at the wooden floor boards. Elizabeth had come in before noon, in ferocious tears and sobbing incoherently, just as Ben had been leaving the first time having inquired about Felicity. Annabelle had not rushed to see him, then, for she was too nervous.

Now she was really nervous!

But now Elizabeth's heart was breaking. Sweet, good-natured, sensible little Elizabeth, who used to be afraid of her big sister, who used to try and talk reason to the older sister, was now a heartbroken mess unlike anything Annabelle had ever seen. Arthur Pratt-peace-loving, kind-hearted, easily submissive Arthur-was suffering, too. For he truly did love Elizabeth dearly, more than his own life! How could anyone believe that he would commit an act of sinful disloyalty like that? No one could, unless Elizabeth had seen it for herself. And then there were the families: the Merrimans, the Pratts, Annabelle's own family... She bit her bottom lip and cringed inwardly. Had destroying the lives of three undeserving families, one of which was her very own, been worth getting revenge on one Felicity Merriman? For a jealosusy held over from adolescence?

Annabelle swallowed uneasily. She would never have Ben Davidson for herself, she understood that now, for she was about to begin life anew with the dashing Major Crumb. Which was all well and good, what she wanted...but thinking about what could have been... with Ben... And what would everyone do and say if they all knew that she had played a major part in a certain madman's plan?

* * *

Rock on, Gold Dust Woman/ Take your silver spoon and dig your grave/ Heartless challenge, pick your path and I'll pray/ Wake up in the morning, see your sunrise loves to go down/ Lousy lovers, pick their prey but never cry out loud/ Cry out loud/ Did she make you cry, make you break down/ Shatter your illusions of love?/ Is it over now, do you know how, to pick up the pieces and go home?/

- lines from 'Gold Dust Woman' by Fleetwood Mac


	2. Chapter 2: Many storms

Author's Blab: Everyone been to 'Stolen Breeches' at livejournal yet? If you haven't, best be on your way, then! Well, after you read this, of course. :P

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Pt.3, Ch.2: Many Storms

Four days out from the Chesapeake Bay, _The Protean _encountered a storm in the night that had the ship bouncing about wildly on the waves and all hands on deck. Combined with the brilliant vein-like flashes of lightning, explosive booming thunder and the continual shouting of men at the tops of their lungs was the screams of Felicity Merriman everytime the vessel pitched and tossed. It unnerved the crew, who were already having trouble concentrating on the tasks at hand with sheets of rain in their faces. There were some very much convinced that having a crazy woman on board was going to bring about the death of them all.

For Felicity, however, being stuck in her tiny cabin in a creaking ship being battered by a severe thunderstorm was a whole new experience, and a terrifying one at that. Sometimes the ship would tilt and nearly send her tumbling into the bulkhead. Knowing that there was no solid land nearby only added to the terror, and _she _was convinced that the ship would be going down. She was convinced the sea would take her life, no longer burdening her with the task, and that was some comfort in the midst of all the turmoil. The notion that the almighty sea would claim Forsythe, the Gooch _and _that immensely disagreeable woman Madame Helga gave Felicity a measure of satisfaction even as she held on to the sides of her bunk with white-knuckled hands.

No wonder the stupid bed needed to be bolted to the wall.

But death-by-storm did not come that night. Despite all the creaking and groaning of the ship, the sharp snapping of the sails and frantic yells of the crew who were topside in the sqall, the big vessel had held together. Felicity did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. The following morning was overcast, cold and blustery. Madame Helga had brought her up on deck for fresh air after her stale breakfast of boiled eggs and hard biscuit (per Forsythe's orders). She sat upon a bench just outside the war room with Helga sitting on her left with a basket of knitting. For a while Felicity merely stared out over the gunwales at the dark grey sea and the unfriendly peaks that rose and fell as if they were meant to hypnotize.

She'd never seen so much water in all her lfe. She briefly thought about Noah and his ark, how Noah had sent out the dove to scout for land-this in turn reminded her of William's toy ark and all of the special times she and Nan would play with it together with him. Her eyes immediately filled and she had to squeeze them shut, lest anyone see her cry. Beneath the grey woolen cloak Helga had fetched for her, her fingernails curled sharply into her palms. She was determined not to show any more emotion. She was already getting uneasy glances from the crew nearest to her and some of the officers as well, and she knew what they were thinking.

She was making them nervous.

There was certain smugness she felt in that. She may not have had anywhere to run to or anyone to help her, but there was the smallest spark of life-sustaining retaliation in knowing that she could quite easily unravel these men by pitching a screaming fit. The thought of the redcoat standing about ten feet away, dozing whilst he stood, getting startled right out from under his fluffy peruke wig almost made her smirk.

Almost.

She had not seen Forsythe since he'd had her taken back to her little cabin that morning. She had heard his voice just outside her door a time or two, but 'twas quite possible that he was avoiding her while she was topside in case she decided to come at him like a flying squirrel again in front of the crew. She was not ruling that out, either. 'Twas a difficult choice to make between showing no emotion and further confirming the lunacy rumor by clawing Forsythe's eyes out. In all honesty, the severe shock of her situation kept her blank-minded much of the time.

'Twas known among the crew and by those who had sailed many times before that a voyage from the colonies to England was a shorter trip than the reverse. This was due to the prevailing westerly winds and the flow of the almighty Gulf Stream. The three-masted vessel was moving along swiftly with single reefs and topgallant sails. Felicity had heard stories about life at sea from her grandfather, stories about being at sea during storms from both Elizabeth _and A_rthur. All three of them had expressed having a feeling of smallness in the presence of the mighty vastness of water and the sails filling with the wind that propelled the ship along.

As if she wasn't feeling overwhelmed enough already.

She didn't _want _to watch any of the topside activities going on. She was not here by choice and _far _from wishing to make any acquaintences. So she stared out at the ocean and thought of all the ways in which she would like to kill Forsythe. She actually raised a hand to her head and yanked off her wadded mobcap to let the breezes stir her already mussed mane of red.

This defiant gesture did not go unnoticed by the continually knitting Madame Helga, who clicked her tongue disapprovingly and said, "You had best put zat thing back on and act like a lady!"

"Or what?" grumbled Felicity suggestively, still staring stonily out at the ocean. "You will give me the powders, put me to sleep and have it nailed onto my head?"

"Zis rebelliousness vill not be tolerated in ze Manor!" Helga scolded, wagging a chubby finger threateningly.

"I do not _care _about 'ze Manor'," Felicity replied coldly as the burly woman gasped in offense. "Nor do I care what anyone _else _at the Manor thinks, because I do not even want to be there in the first place."

"But you must do vat your husband vants you to do!"

"He is not my husband, nor do I want him to be. I am here against my will and you know that. I will not do as _anyone _wishes as long as this captivity continues." She had not raised her voice, turned her head to look at the woman or moved a muscle. Eerily, Felicity seemed quite calm in her remoteness.

Helga was, of course, appalled by such insolence. "Oh! Lord Vorsythe will be most angry when he hears zis!"

Felicity shrugged indifferently.

And indeed he was. Later that evening another squall blew up fast, and Felicity was in her tiny cabin praying for mass death and destruction, when the red-faced young lord from Bristol flung the door wide open. His flinging was not intentional, for the ship had begun the awful pitching and rolling, and all bodily movements seemed to become exaggerated with the dreadful lurching. Angry as he was, however, he was also half-concerned with trying to remain upright on his feet, for he clutched at the door frames frantically. Felicity, who sat upon the little bed looking as though she was in the meditation position, merely glared at him.

Perhaps he would not be staggering about so much if his shoe-heels were not above average height, she mused.

"Now Felicity, I told you what would happen if you insisted on behaving improperly," he said, in his best attempt at sounding intimidating while scrambling for a decent hold on the left side of the door frame. His lower half slid out into the narrow corridor.

"And I tell you that I do not care!" she yelled back at him over the sounds of pounding feet overhead, the wind, thunder and the clanging bell for all hands."So go ahead and administer your stupid powders! They will make me sleep and sleep, so that I do not have to see your ugly face!"

Forsythe gasped as his lower half slid forward with the pitching of the ship. "Felicity! You shall behave yourself at once!"

"Nay, I believe I shall not! Not, not, not!" she yelled back at him defiantly.

The cabin's door swung at him fast, almost as if on cue, as if she had actually _willed _it to do so, but 'twas merely the motion of the ship on the waves. He kicked it back with one of his beige silk shoe-clad feet. "Why must you be so impossible!"

Felicity folded her arms obstinately and glared at him hard. Despite the vessel's rocking and rolling, the crazy sway of the overhead lantern and the room's chair and chamberpot sliding back and forth, she remained unmoved on the bolted bed. "Because _you _stole me away from my family!"

"You agreed to marry me!"

"So you would leave my family and friends alone!"

"And are they not?" He was thrust forward as if pushed rudely from behind. He grabbed hold of the door's dull brass doorknob handle as his feet skidded out from under him.

"You never said anything about taking me away from my family!"

"Because I needn't have had to! I told you that!"

"And _I _tell you that you _should have_!" Felicity's eyes were dangerously dark and fierce as she watched him release his hold on the doorknob and clamp onto the frame at the foot of the bed. He was completely on the floor now. "_I _should have never agreed to marry you!"

"But if you ever want to see your family again, you _will_!" His head and its receeding hairline came up over the end of the bed as he scrambled like mad to get upright again.

"My family knows that I would rather die than to marry _you_!" There was a bone-vibrating roll of thunder and more shouting from the men who were topside. Felicity didn't even flinch. She kept her arms folded tightly against herself. "_They _would understand!"

Exasperated, stressed and extremely queasy, Reginald moved, mangaed to get himself up so that he could sit at the foot of the bed. His thin hands gripped the bedframe shakingly. "Felicity, you are not being practical! I can give you a life that other young ladies only dream about! You can be treated like a queen and have everything you desire! How can you say you do not want that?"

Felicity swung her legs and dress over the side of the bed and scooted away from him, up to the top of the bed. "Because it is the truth! I do not want _anything _from you or even to do _with _you! I want my family! I want _Ben_!"

"That damnable apprentice?" Forsythe cried incredulously as he involuntarily swayed along with the ship's movement. "You will soon forget all about him after you are married to me! The idiot abandoned you in your hour of need; seems to me you would be quite furious with him!"

Oh, indeed she was! She _was _angry at Ben for not believing in her, for having such little faith in their love that he could just easily turn on her like that. But Ben was not here, and she sure as hell was not anywhere near Williamsburg anymore. Forsythe _was _here and he was the cause of all of this. She would make damn sure she ruined his life the way he had ruined hers. Completely. "And it seems to me," she shot back loudly over the wind and thunder, "that _you _would see that I utterly _despise _you and you would leave me alone!"

"Nonsense!" He edged closer to her. "You will come around, Felicity. You _will _see that I knew what was best for you all along!"

"Oh no I won't!" She leaned back away from him as far as she could from his unsteady advancing. What _did _he think he was trying to do? "_You _will be the one to see!"

"Felicity Merriman, you _will _submit to me-!"

She had timed her nausea well. As he made a grab for her, she lurched forward, as did her stomach, and threw up all over the front of his luxurious tan and gold clothing. A greasy dinner of ham, beans, and some other meat that she could not, nor dared not try to, identify combined at just the right moment with the swaying and lurching of the ship, working well to her advantage.

Forsythe recoiled in horror, uttering a high-pitched cry that was a mix of surprise and disgust. He was up and staggering back as he stared in shock at the state of his expensive clothing. Felicity merely held her stomach with one hand and held her dinner napkin over her mouth with the other.

She had, incredibly, nearly laughed.

"Felicity! How could-this is-oh! Ugh!" The ship's bow dipped without warning, sending him tumbling backwards with flailing arms, out of the little cabin and into the narrow corridor. Felicity rose, and with the forward tilting of the ship slid to the door and slammed it shut, not that it needed much help.

"And stay out!" she screamed.

He did.

The ship did not sink _that _night, either. But Felicity Merriman did learn something that night as well: even under the worst of circumstances she could still fight. She had not changed her mind about taking her own life before Forsythe could attempt consumating the marriage-that thought alone could induce regurgitation-but she was finding a bizarre amount of strength simply from her own will to defy her oppressors. She was _still _Felicity.

And she was one hell of a projectile vomiter.

* * *

Late that afternoon of Felicity's abduction, Ben had successfully wrangled Elizabeth and Arthur back to the Merriman house, complete with Mr. and Mrs. Cole. The Merriman family, sans Felicity and William (the latter of whom was currently out with Marcus looking _for _Felicity), were in the parlor. Edward Merriman was at least sitting down now on the sofa, with Martha close by his side keeping a close eye on the dressings of his wounds. Nan sat stonily in a chair by the fire with her hands in her lap, looking lost as she stared at the floor. Polly sat by Nan's legs holding her floppy stuffed bunny, a sentimental gift Felicity had made for her one Christmas out of clothing scraps with button eyes and feathers for the stuffing. Polly was the youngest, therefore she did not truly understand all of what was going on, just that something serious had happened concerning Felicity, and that everyone was upset and worried.

Surely her big brother and hero William would find Felicity and bring her home so that everyone could be happy again. Father could not get well unless his family was all together.

As soon as Ben hauled the glaring Elizabeth and the ailing Arthur into the Merriman's parlor, Arthur took to the nearest chair, Nan stood up immediately, and Elizabeth crossed her arms again and strode to the farthest corner of the room with her back to everyone. and his wife stood stiffly beside Ben, not quite knowing what to say since they were very much sided with Elizabeth against Felicity and Arthur. On top of that was knowing that Edward Merriman had recently been shot _twice _and looked absolutely sick in all sorts of ways to make the Coles feel jumbled in their emotions and opinions.

"Here, sir," Ben breathed urgently. "They are here. Now I must go find Felicity!" He turned to stride back out of the room when Mr. Merriman halted him with a quick, "_Ben_..."

He looked back expectantly.

"I need you here. Like I said."

"But sir, I-!"

"Ben, I cannot argue with you just now." Mr. Merriman was paler than before Ben had left. "Remember what I told you about having a plan of my own?"

Mr. Cole stepped forward, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Look, Edward, I am very sorry about your condition, but since these turns of events-"

"Simon," Mr. Merriman interjected softly but firmly, "I am very glad that you and your wife are here. There is much to discuss and a short time to discuss it all in. You must know that we have all been victimized."

"'Victimized'?" Mrs. Cole looked to Mrs. Merriman, who looked heart-sick. "I do not understand."

"Here." Edward leaned forward as best he could, holding out the crinkled paper that was Jiggy Nye's note. "Read this."

Equally confused, Mr. Cole took the paper, straightened it out and read it softly under his breath as his wife leaned close to him to read it herself. As Simon Cole's lips moved, Mr. Merriman said, "Jiggy Nye was found dead with that note beneath his hand. His apprentice has already confirmed that that is Nye's handwriting, but the point is that Nye overheard Reginald Forsythe's plan to trap my daughter and Arthur. And because he did, he was murdered."

Ben stepped forward also. "And Elizabeth told me that a big burly man wearing hunter's clothing stopped her on the street this morning! He told her where to find Lissie and Arthur! 'Twas this Gooch-person that works for Forsythe!"

Mr. and Mrs. Cole looked at each other, startled, for their judgements had indeed just been shaken once more. Though Elizabeth's back was still turned to them all, her head at least turned in their direction.

"That is what I was trying to tell you, dearest Beth!" Arthur moaned ailingly, again propping himself up on elbows and head in hands."This _Gooch _altered our drinks! We became affected and passed out, and when we woke, we found ourselves just as you did! Felicity and I did nothing to betray you _or _young Benjamin! Don't you know that whether sane or immensely intoxicated I would _never_, _ever _commit such an act of sin? I would _never _betray you or our friends!"

Elizabeth slowly turned around, her teary blue eyes uncertain. "But you and Felicity always seemed so close..."

Arthur looked at her with exasperated, pleading eyes. "Well of course we were! Felicity and I are lovers of gags! There are no romantic feelings between us of any sort- there never have been! I love her as a friend, as _your _friend, as _your _sister, as yet another sister to _me_! Why, I even told her that she made an excellent brother!"

Despite all, Polly giggled at that.

"Elizabeth, I have always thought of the three of us as jokesters," he continued. "Felicity and I are bonded by humor and comedy, and even more so, bonded by _you_! Through our love for you! Felicity loves you just as much as her own family, and I love you more than life itself! You _know _that!"

Nan turned to Elizabeth and touched her shoulder. "Elizabeth, _listen _to him! Where is your faith? You cannot always trust your eyes! And you know Felicity loves you too much to ever betray you!"

Mr. Merriman nodded grimly. "Aye, Beth. Felicity and Arthur commited no act of deciet against you or Ben. According to Ben, Forsythe had even warned him that he would not know what was happening until it had already happened. But none of us believed Reginald would arrange for such a disaster that would devastate us all into such a distraction that Forsythe could- " here he had to swallow unsteadily "-steal Felicity away from us. And as for my shooting, 'twas _Ben _he meant to kill, not me."

Mr. Cole nodded, closed his eyes and wordlessly handed the note from Jiggy Nye to his daughter. Elizabeth took it carefully, held it in both hands and turned to face them all fully as she, too, read it's contents. After a moment's contemplation, she said to Arthur, "But why were you so willing to have drinks with a strange man you did not know?"

Arthur gripped a chair arm to steady himself with. "I had stopped at the Wetherburn for my usual hot toddy and slice of mince meat. This 'Gooch' of whom you have heard us speak approached me having heard my English, and struck up a conversation about being from England. I was so excited about our upcoming wedding that I indulged him without thinking twice. He insisted that we make a toast to the wedding day, then Felicity came in. She had been looking for Ben because it was late and she was afraid something had happend to him or he had gone off somewhere, and because I was late in getting to the Merriman house to meet Beth, she was looking for me, too! Mr. Gooch insisted that she join us for the toast and that an Englishman always keeps his word...Well...I thought there was no harm in it, drinking a toast to the happiest day of my life! He insisted on buying, so I relented, as long as it would not take much time. He left the table for a few minutes...if I had known that he had tainted our drinks I would not have..." He sagged miserably back down in the chair.

"The brute knew exactly what he was doing," Mr. Merriman agreed, on poor Arthur's behalf. "Taking advantage of Arthur's good nature- and my daughter's. I assume Forsythe told his man about your habit of stopping at the Tavern, and so he was to follow you there and see to it you became imbibed."

"But how could Forsythe have known Felicity was even looking for Arthur?" Elizabeth asked Mr. Merriman, the doubt still evident in her voice.

"Felicity was watched by Forsythe a lot," Mr. Merriman sighed. "With me being wounded and Ben not home, who else would go out searching for a friend who was late in coming home?" He shook his head in sickened wonder. "Remember, Elizabeth, Forsythe is a greatly disturbed and spoiled individual. He offered me money in exchange for Felicity, as you recall. For all we know, he really had no plan at all and simply waited for opportunities, which, unfortunately for all of us, worked in his favor!"

"You are her best freind!" entreatied Nan, with severe disappointment in her voice. "You and Felicity were like sisters long before you ever even met Arthur! How could you think Felicity would do such a horrible thing to you, knowing that she loved Ben so very much?" And just as Ben feared would happen, Nan Merriman turned her wrath upon _him_. "And _you _especially! Though I am utterly disgusted by you, I am not surprised by your behavior! You have _never _been reliable! I always knew you would hurt my sister badly and you most certainly _did_! You do _not _deserve her! She told me she would rather be dead than be married to Forsythe, and now because of _you_, she just might be!"

"Believe me, Nan, I am more sorry than words can say!" Ben told her shakingly. "I will be the first one to tell you that I just did not think! I reacted- I let all of my fears and insecurities about Felicity truly loving me being too good to be true take over me! And now I am suffering for it!"

"_You _are suffering?" Nan's teeth clenched. the bristling fourteen year old took a step toward him, her dark blue eyes flashing raw fury. "_You _are not the one in the hands of a lunatic! You practically _gave _her to him! If my sister is dead, her blood is on your hands! Oh, I just _hate _you, Ben Davidson! You _murderer_!"

"Nanette!" Edward Merriman barked sharply, the exertion visibly making him weak. "That is more than enough! We are _all _suffering! We have all been Forsythe's victims! But turning on each other is not going to help the situation, nor help Felicity in any way!"

Nan held Ben's sorrowful gaze with her own furious eyes, until Ben was the one to look away, guilt-ridden and broken-hearted. Mr. Merriman was about to speak again, when Nan turned to the Coles and said (with every intention of making _them _feel guilty, too), "And I assume you know nothing about _Annabelle's _part in all of this?"

A shocked-induced slience fell heavily upon the room. "Young lady," gulped Mrs. Cole, trembling, "are you implying-"

"'Implying'?" Nan interrupted incedulously. "Oh, nay, Mrs. Cole, I am informing! 'Twas not even a week ago that I espied Lord Forsythe deep in conversation with your Annabelle while out on Duke of Gloucester Street. She handed him a rolled up parchment and looked around to see if anyone was watching them. They did not see me because I had just stopped in front of Jenny Wheaton to exchange pleasantries. I went along to Father's store, and when I came out, Forsythe was about to go in." She spared Ben a nasty look. "'Twas the day he came in just to purposely rile _you_."

Ben closed his eyes in guiltful regret.

"'Tis up to you whether you want to question Annabelle about it or not." Nan turned back to Elizabeth. "Being her _sister_, tell me something, Elizabeth: does allying herself with Reginald Fosythe sound like something she would do? Can anyone here think of a reason why Annabelle might want to cause problems for my sister?"

Mr. and Mrs. Cole exchanged an uneasy look.

"Oh for Christ's sake," Ben muttered in knowing realization,

Polly, being a Merriman and therefore not quite so oblivious to everything, pulled her knees up and hugged her floppy bunny very hard. "Annabelle doesn't like Lissie. She likes Ben." Just like her beloved older sister, the girl had a knack for saying aloud what others only thought.

Elizabeth grasped Nan's hands desperately. "Oh Nan...I know Annabelle has always been jealous of Felicity, but to become involved with a plot that would involve hurting me and Arthur-?"

"So you believe me?" Arthur stood up with his heart in his throat.

"I-I-I think so," Nan sputtered bewilderingly. "B-But Annabelle is in love with Major Crumb...why would she still be pining for Ben if-if-if-"

'Twas Mr. Cole who answered her, with a heavy sigh: "Because Annabelle is used to getting her way, dearest. Before she was born, Eliza- your mother- suffered numerous miscarriages." He had to stop to wipe a hand over his eyes, grip the consoling hand of his wife that laid upon his shoulder. "Annabelle was the first child ever carried to term and survive. And good God, we were so ecstatic that we indulged her wholeheartedly. That is _our _fault. We all know she set her heart on Ben here, and I believe she never truly got over it. Of course she loves Basil, but I know she will always harbor a grudge against your girl, Edward, for being the one who won Ben Davidson."

"Mr. Cole," Ben said frankly, "I was never interested in Annabelle. My regard for her was only politeness and courtesy, especially since she is the sister of my good friend Elizabeth. I never gave Annabelle false intentions or suggestions."

Nan glared at him, then said to the Coles, "Is Annabelle not at home this instant? Can you not just ask her what her business with Reginald Forsythe was? Perhaps she knows something that can be of use to us!" She looked to Elizabeth. "Make her swear upon your bond as sisters and before God to tell you the truth about what she knows!"

Mr. Merriman's eyes went from Nan to Elizabeth.

"I will!" Elizabeth's chin came up. She met each of their eyes in turn. "I shall go this instant and fetch my sister!" She spun in a whirl of lavender skirts and breezed out the parlor door. But within a second, her upper-half reappeared back around the door frame, and to Arthur she snapped, "Well? Are you coming with me or not?"

"Oh Elizabeth!" Arthur cried joyfully. Though his face was shadowed with nausea, his eyes had their sparkle back. "Does this mean-?"

"Of course it does! Now help me fetch Annabelle quick, for my very best friend in the whole world is in terrible danger!" And as still sickly Arthur Pratt sprang after his beloved in several happy staggers, they could all hear Elizabeth burst into tears as she left, crying, "Lissie, Lissie! Why did I not stop to think!"

Mr. Cole sighed heavily and looked at Mr. Merriman. "I, ah, believe we owe you an appology, Edward. For daring to think for one moment that your girl, who's been like a sister to our Elizabeth could, could-"

"Never mind that, Simon," Mr. Merriman said with understanding in his strained voice. "Reginald Forsythe has preyed upon our weaknesses, but we will not be weak any longer."

"Sir!" pleaded Ben, his impatience wearing the thinnest yet. "Please, sir, what can we do to save Felicity? You said you, too, had a plan!"

"And indeed I do, Ben." He coughed, breathed deep, and squeezed the hand of his wife that touched his arm. "Forsythe is already hours away, but I know you know the roads North. How fast can you be ready to go after him?"

"I am ready _now_, sir!"

On the inside, Edward Merriman's heart filled with love for the youthful captain. He could not be cross with Ben about losing faith in Felicity for long, for he knew often the guilt and agony over a moment's weakness was punishment in itself. The young man was obviously in emotional agony _now_. Indeed, Ben needed action to keep them _all _from succombing to madness. He inhaled again. "Not quite, Ben. Get whatever you need to take with you-being a soldier, you aready know how to assemble within a minute. Go by Walter Wheaton's house: I know he has a horse he can spare you. He might even offer to go with you, that would be most like him to do so. If you encounter Marcus, William, and Caleb Haverty, then tell them what you're about. If any of them wish to go with you...let them."

He and Ben exchanged a look; a look that only men accustomed to war were all too familiar with, that without verbal communication spoke of understanding that one will do whatever one must, no matter what the cost, and by whatever means necessary.

"As I've said before, he will most likely be traveling by carriage. It makes the most sense. Therefore, Ben, take the road that would be the best choice for a carriage. Follow your instincts, and pray you will overtake Forsythe."

Mr. Cole swallowed hard, his face set with determination."If there is anything you need, anything at all we can do, I am at your service, Edward."

Mrs. Cole sat down swiftly on Martha's other side. "As am I , Martha. You shall not bear this burden alone."

"Thank you, both of you," Mrs. Merriman said, her voice tinged with stress. "All I need is to have my daughter home and my husband well. This entire situation is as close to madness as we've ever been!"

"Be strong, love," Edward urged, doing his damndest to take his own advice. "Ben will bring Felicity home, and then I will get better." He nodded curtly to Ben, who understood immediately and spun on his heel, eager to be going.

Nan stared after him, her stare not at all showing any belief in him. Somehow, in the depths of her already aching soul, she knew Ben Davidson would not be returning with Felicity.

CHAPTER FINISHED!


	3. Chapter 3: The Source Revealed

Felicity: An American Girl Romance, PT.3, CH.3: The Source Revealed

"Annabelle!" Elizabeth shouted angrily the moment she stepped into the Cole home. This was no time for gentlewomanly confrontation, oh no. Lives had been shaken and plunged into turmoil this day, therefore the time for patience and understanding was past, as far as Elizabeth Cole was concerned. "Annabelle Cole, you get yourself within my presence this _instant_!"

She had been lying down upstairs. At the sound of Elizabeth's voice ringing through the house, she stiffened in alarm.

"Gawdamighty, Miss Elizabeth!" Dolly cried out as she trotted into the foyer where the youngest Cole daughter stood with her blue eyes blazing in anger, hands on hips, breathing hard from her run back to the house. "Whatchoo goin' on about?"

"You are about to find out, Dolly!" Then Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and hollored even louder, "Annabelle, if you do not make yourself present by the time I count to three I'm going to come after you!" This blaring declaration made Dolly pop her hands over her ears. Just outside the front door, Arthur was fertilizing the Coles' boxwood hedges with regurgitation once more.

"One! Two! Th-"

Annabelle appeared at the top of the stairs, looking as though she had just been woken from a nap. She faked a wide yawn and slowly began to descend the stairs in an air of nonchalance. However, on the inside she was fear-frozen and every step was full of trembling dread. She was caught and unable to escape, not that she had anywhere to escape _to_. She sighed as she stopped just short of the bottom two steps. "Now Bitsy, I know you've had quite a shock this morning, but-"

"Don't you _ever _call me 'Bitsy' again, _Bananbelle _Cole! You have really pushed me too far this time!" Elizabeth was trembling with rage.

Annabelle frowned. "Whatever do you mean?" She glanced around taking note of Dolly standing just off to the right looking frightened and the sound of Arthur Pratt gagging just outside. "Where are Mother and Father?"

"At the Merriman house, Annabelle! Which is right where I am taking you so that you can explain your actions in Lord Forsythe's plot to take Felicity!"

_Oh Lord, how did they find out? No one was supposed to know! What am I going to do NOW? _Annabelle felt as though someone had just doused her with a pail of icy cold water. So it had come. The chills and sweats of being discovered broke out all over her. _But how? OH God, what do I do? _"Wh-What are you talking about? I do not-you are mis-"

"Nan Merriman saw you!" Elizabeth blurted ferociously."She saw you talking with Forsythe just days ago, on Duke of Gloucester Street! You handed him a rolled up paper and looked quite suspicious! Is this not true, Annabelle? Is Nan Merriman a liar?"

"I-I-I can't-that is-"

Elizabeth stepped up to her and boldly grabbed the startled, older girl's arms firmly. "Tell me, Annabelle, what you have done! What have you got to do with Reginald Forsythe? Did you assist him in any way to get back at Felicity?"

The pain and the fury in Elizabeth's eyes was unlike anything Annabelle Cole had ever seen. It was so frightening that her mind could not work fast enough. Her words were a shaking jumble: "Sure N-Nan M-Merriman saw me speak to Lord Forsythe that day! We were merely t-talking of the weather and-!"

"Then what did you give to him? What was the rolled up paper about, Annabelle?"

"P-Paper?" _Oh-no!_

Elizabeth gripped her older sister's arms tighter. "Yes, the paper Nan saw you give to him! Don't you _dare _plead ignorance with me! Did you give Lord Forsythe a roll of paper or is Nan a liar?"  
The moment of silence that followed was eerily as sharp as the loud voices that had first pierced it. Annabelle's chin quivered uncontrollably; she was at that place between flat-out denying everything else just to save her own skin and complete confession of everything so that she would be thrown upon the mercies of her own family. Lying was a sin. _Calling _someone a liar was just as bad. To deny everything would only hurt Elizabeth even more. She hated that her sister had to be hurt at all, but at the time of her scheming, getting back at Felicity Merriman had been all that had mattered.

She had not known things would go this far.

Elizabeth jerked her. "Annabelle!"

"All right, all right, yes!" Unable to hold back any longer, she burst into sobs. "I _helped _him!"

"My God!" Elizabeth breathed in horror. Her mind spun like mad. She grabbed Annabelle by the closest wrist. "My own sister! You are going to come with me to the Merrimans and tell them _and _Mother and Father everything that you have done!"

"Oh no! No, no ,no!" sobbed Annabelle fearfully. "They will hate me! They will _all _hate me!"

"'Tis no less than what you deserve!" Elizabeth yanked hard on her sister's wrist as she made for the front door. Annabelle struggled weakly, but Elizabeth was tensed and full of energy stemming from raw fury. She showed no mercy. "Arthur, let's go! Dolly, you are in charge of the house until _someone _gets back!"

"Yes'm!" Dolly scurried to close the front door as Elizabeth dragged the wailing Annabelle out of it.

Arthur was sitting sprawled out on the pebble path, pale and drained in a post-regurgitive daze. "I believe I am quite emptied now," said he, meekly.

"Get up, Arthur. You may need to assist me in getting my witch-of-a-sister to the Merriman's!"

"Elizabeth, please...!" wailed Annabelle between sobs. "Do not make me!"

Elizabeth ignored her. "Arthur _now_!"

"Coming, my love!" He scrambled to his feet, wavered, tottered after the Cole sisters deliriously. "I am in need of sustenance!"

"Mrs. Merriman will give you something to sustain you," Elizabeth called back at him. She ignored the stares of the people and soldiers they passed, too focused on finding out what all Annabelle knew and had done as she towed her sobbing older sister along in a death-grip. Annabelle continued to cry and stumble, looking as though she was being taken to her doom.

Behind the girls, Arthur straggled along, looking forlorn. "Why would Annabelle choose to help Lord Forsythe when she knew you and I would be hurt?"

"Because hurting Felicity was _far _too important!" snarled Elizabeth in reply.

Annabelle whimpered, "I didn't _want _the both of you to be hurt! I did not know he would go to such extremes!"

Arthur caught up to the older sister and tried to catch her eye. "You are engaged to a militant Major, who is also the heir to an earldom! Why hold on to childhood jealousies when you are a grown woman of rational thought?"

"Because she's _Annabelle_!" Elizabeth replied for her sister angrily. "If she cannot have something, _no _one will!"

"Th-that is not true! I just-I only wanted-Oh, please, Elizabeth, do not make me face them all _and _Ben!" They were coming up on the Merriman home.

Elizabeth gave Annabelle's wrist an extra hard yank. "'Tis no where near as bad at the situation my dearest _friend _is facing, I'll wager!" Pangs of guilt slashed through her heart and she ached to have Felicity home. "If Felicity is hurt, it is your fault-and mine! But at least _I _have the moral sense to know when I have been wrong!"

"I'm sorry!" Annabelle cried, as she was towed toward the Merriman's front door. "I didn't mean-I didn't think!'

"Oh you were thinking, all right, but only of yourself!" snapped Elizabeth.

The front door came open and Rose stepped out to meet them. "Miss Nan sent me out to get Mr. Arthur 'fore he falls on his face like a dried up twig!"

"Thank you, Rose." Elizabeth pulled on Annabelle's arm, felt the tense resisitance in it. "Are my Mother and Father still here?"

"Aye, Miss Beth." Rose glanced briefly at Annabelle, who whimpered again. "Mr. Ben left to look for Felicity."

"Oh thank the Lord!" Annabelle cried. "I would not want him to see me in such a state!"

"Annabelle!" Elizabeth reprimanded sharply. "If _I _were you, and thank the Lord I am not, I would be more concerned with what our parents _and _the Merriman family are going to do!"

Annabelle started sobbing again.

* * *

"I met Lord Forsythe at Lady Templeton's Autmun Harvest Ball just before Ben and his cavalry left Williamsburg," confessed Annabelle Cole, sniffing miserably where she sat in a chair across from her parents on a two-seater and a brooding Nan Merriman. To her left were Mr. and Mrs. Merriman, quiet and stiff. Her dark brown eyes were downcast, fearful of meeting any of the hurt, pained and upset stares she knew were fastened upon her. "We spoke of how we believed it was wrong of his Aunt to have invited the Patriot soldiers, and Lord Forsythe expressed his immense dislike for Ben especially, for he felt that _he _was the better choice for Felicity. I-I told him how I admired Ben, and then he suggested that we may be of use to each other."

"Oh Annabelle," said Mrs Cole in deep disappointment.

In her lap, her hands balled. "At the time, Lord Forsythe was primarily concerned with the conditions in which he was to inherit his late father's business. And _my _father soon came to visit, and I returned to New York with him, but Forsythe and I kept up a correspondance...he asked me to keep him well advised with all the news concerning Felicity and Ben."

Elizabeth glared hard at her sister from where she stood across the room. "And I suppose you relayed to him every single word I wrote to you!"

Annabelle shivered from the cold of edgy nervousness. "Yes."

"Then I am sorry Mrs. Merriman, Mr. Merriman," Elizabeth said to the parents of her best friend. "And to you, too, Nan. I had no idea that my news from home would be so abused."

"Its...its all right, Elizabeth," Edward Merriman said kindly to her. His wounds had begun to grieve him again, making his eyes water. "You didn't know."

Mr. Cole looked straight at his eldest daughter. "I am _very _disappointed in you, Annabelle! I would ask you how you could stoop to such a level, but I'm afraid I already know the answer! You have been spoiled to an extreme, and for that, your mother and I am to blame. But I had thought we had also passed on to you some sense of ethic! This good family and your own sister have suffered cruelly this day! Though you are not _directly _responsible for what has happened, you _did _have a helping hand in it, and I am beyond words at how angry I am at you this moment!'

"I'm _sorry_!" Annabelle whimpered.

"Indeed!" agreed Mrs. Cole indignantly. "I believe you are sorry that you were caught!'

"Annabelle," Mr. Merriman began, trying to be patient with her, trying to keep the hurt from his voice, "do you know where exactly Forsythe is taking Felicity?"

It took her a moment to compose herself, withdrawing a handkerchief from her skirts pocket into which she blew her already red nose. "To New York, s-sir," she replied nasaly. "I think. In his letters and speaking to him in person, he only ever expressed his wishes to remove Felicity from Williamsburg. He seemed interested in New York, since it is where Loyalists are treated more kindly. While I was living there with Father, he wrote and asked me what I could find out about a reliable hunter looking for employment."

Elizabeth's fists clenched at her sides. "Are you saying that _you _are the one who sought out this Mr. Gooch that Arthur and Ben have spoke of?"

Annabelle trembled at her sister's rage. "N-Not exactly, I-I turned to Basil! I told him that a Loyalist friend was returning to Williamsburg, seeking out a bounty hunter to find his Patriot enemy, and, well, you know how strong a Loyalist Basil is! _He _sought out Mr. Gooch for Forsythe!"

"At your request!" Elizabeth exclaimed. Groans and quiet oaths of shock and disasppointment sounded all around the room.

"But I knew nothing of the details of Lord Forsythe's plan!" Annabelle pleaded, as if this statement could redeem herself to them somehow. "When I met this Mr. Gooch with Basil, the man did not strike me as being capable of doing _anything_, seeing as how he loved to drink so much. Basil said he had a fine reputation for markmanship, so I did not question him-"

"Did it ever occur to you that Forsythe might want a hunter so that he could have somebody _slain_?" Nan blurted angrily. "Are you _that _dense?"

"No!" Annabelle's hands flopped helplessly in her lap. "I knew only that Forsythe wanted Felicity! I didn't _want _to know what he wanted Mr. Gooch for! I did not ask questions and he did not volunteer specifics!"

Mr. Cole wiped his forehead. "But a _bounty _hunter, Annabelle! Would you not have wondered-? Ah, Christ," he muttered, realizing it was pointless to ask. "What all does Major Crumb know of Forsythe?"

"B-Basil knows only that Forsythe is a rich Loyalist doing whatever he must to support the King."

Mr. Merriman appealed to Annabelle once more, trying to get her to focus. "Annabelle, please: where do you think Forsythe would take Felicity?"

"In all honesty, Mr. Merriman, I would say New York. 'Twould make sense." She sniffed weakly. "I know I have done wrong. I truly am sorry..."

Elizabeth shook her head. "All because of your old jealousy of my best friend. Tell me something else, Annabelle: What was the paper you gave to Lord Forsythe that day?"

"He had asked me a day earlier if there was any particular apothecary in town that carried opiate-based powders. I wrote down the names and addresses of the best apothecarys in town, that is all. He said he was looking for effectual powders to take back to his Uncle Lord Templeton."

"_Powders_?" Elizabeth's hands flew to her cheeks.

"Ah-hah!" This exclamation came from Arthur, who had been in the Merriman mini-kitchen putting food and fluids back into his weakened body. He could no longer stand not knowing what was being said. He staggered into the parlor with a fork still in one hand and his napkin still tucked into his cravat. "I told you, Beth! My drink had been tainted!"

There were more gasps and stricken expressions. Elizabeth turned to him and clasped his wrists. "And I believe you, Arthur! Now that it is too late..."

Nan Merriman folded her arms and looked at Elizabeth with a bit of irritability in her eyes. "You should not have needed these explanations. Your very own heart would have told you. From Ben Davidson I would expect such behavior. But from _you_..."

"I'm sorry, Nan!" Elizabeth's blue eyes had teared up again. "Please believe me, I am sorry!"

Nan shrugged, still holding onto her anger, but it was mainly concerning Ben. She glared at Annabelle again. "Did you not suspect he would use 'medicinal' powders to poison someone?"

"No! I did not think of that!" Annabelle wiped her red puffy eyes with her hankie. "I told you that I did not question him! He said he had several ideas about how to divide Felicity and Ben, and that he might require your and Arthur's assistance, but I did not take him seriously! I did not think that he would actually do it! He seemed so...talkative, but not capable of taking any action."

Elizabeth glared at her, too. "Actually, Annabelle, I am surprised that you can think at all!"

Mr. Merriman sighed tensely. "Well, what's done is done. There are men out looking for Felicity now. Surely they will be able to catch up to Forsythe's carriage before too long. It is getting toward evening."

"Dear Lord, I pray that she is all right," Mrs. Merriman said softly, staring at the floor with frightened eyes.

Annabelle dabbed at her eyes again, glanced at Elizabeth hugging Arthur. She looked to her father once more. "Are you going to punish me, Father?"

"_Punish _you?" Mr. Cole raised his head from his hands and looked his eldest living child in the eye with sadness and frustration. "Annabelle, you are a grown _woman_, for God's sake! I cannot punish you even if I thought it would do any good! All I can do is pray that you have _some _human decency about you to regret what you've done. I will pray that someday, somehow, you will prove that you do indeed have a soul!"

His words stung. Annabelle's chin quivered with the threat of re-errupting sobs.

"'Tis best that you return home now, Annabelle," Mrs. Cole advised sternly. "The Merrimans have no doubt had enough of you, and you need to do some serious thinking about the pain that you have helped cause us _all_."

She nodded sullenly, rose from her chair and swept to the parlor door. She paused, looked back at Elizabeth (upon who's shoulder Arthur's head was resting comfortingly), and said, "I really am truly sorry, Beth."

"That remains to be seen," Elizabeth told her coldly.

It was more than she had any right to expect. Annabelle left the Merriman house not even relieved that she had gotten off so easily. She had the burden of the anger of her family upon her now; God only knew how long that would last. She had most likely lost completely the love and trust of her only living sibling. There was nothing left for her but to marry Basil and return to England with him.  
It had been so easy to be jealous of Felicity Merriman. The younger girl had that spirit, that untamed enthusiasm that society tried so hard to discourage in girls. Felicity defied expectations and got away with it. She had the looks and the spirit of a wild Irish rose, what with that striking red hair and those spell-casting green eyes. No wonder Ben could not resist her! Felicity was beautiful without realizing it. She was everything Annabelle Cole secretly longed to be.

And Annabelle had had plenty of admiring suitors in New York. Fine officers of the King's army who had kissed her hand, paid her flattering complements and swore up and down that their lives were over if she would not marry them. And it had been fun, flirting and being given so much attention. But yet...the officers seemed to be lacking in something. They were very refined, gentlemanly...stiff. There had been no spark of rebellious livliness, such as Ben Davidson had. No burning passions lying just beneath the surface. And why had she become taken with Basil Crumb? Because he was the closest thing to Ben she would ever get? Ben would always want Felicity because Felicity and he were bonded by love, family, passion and spirit.

As she trudged home, staring at the dirt road, she could not help but feel as though God was punishing her for trying to interfere with His great love-match. For the first time in her life here in the colonies she began to think of life without a jealous grudge. Perhaps, maybe, if she tried to go about her own business without thinking of getting revenge on someone, God would bless her, too. Aye, she did love Basil.

Perhaps it was time she grew up after all.

CHAPTER FINISHED!

* * *

Author Nag: Have you been to 'Stolen Breeches' yet? If thou hast not, then get thine ass over there, henceforth!

Tags:american girl fanfic, felicity and ben romance

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	4. Chapter 4: Bristol Fashion

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE PT3, Ch4: Bristol Fashion

December 20, 1781  
Bristol, England

_The Protean _had been at sea a month and a half. Despite powerful squalls and sheets of rain, the vessel had made good time. She was carried into the Bristol Channel on hearty breezes. The rivers Avon and Severn, magnificent in their own right, met at the Channel and provided plenty of challenges for a tall ship. Bristol's port was not very kind to big sailing ships, however it was ideal for the shipping out of English goods. The city had no docks at this time, and ships were therefore left high and dry at low tide. Any ship using the port had to be a tough one and well-maintained. 'Twas how the saying "Ship shape and Bristol fashion" came to be.

When Felicity was ushered up from her tiny cabin, where she had just spent the majority of a month and a half either sleeping in misery or sewing on a warm, woolen petticoat of callimanco for herself in misery, she was met with fresh cold breezes, a grey overcast sky, and a determined Reginald Forsythe. She glared at him resentfully.

"Good morning, Felicity," he said, with authority in his voice. He stood near a yawning Ezekiel Gooch, probably to have someone wide to duck behind in case she decided to attack him again. And even still, the short young lord was attempting to assert dominion over her again. "I hope you slept well your last night aboard ship. We are preparing to take the long boat to shore."

"I am not getting off of this ship until it takes me back to Virginia!" she spat, standing her ground with arms folded tightly beneath her woolen cloak. She was already tired, still sleepy, and her head hurt.  
Forsythe sighed. "You are _not _going back to Virginia, as you have consented to be my wife."

"You stole me from my family!"

"Ye gods, not _this _argument again," the young lord muttered, as the Gooch chuckled and popped a lit pipe into his big mouth. Behind Felicity, Madame Helga shook her head and made her irritating _tsk_-_tsk _sound.

"You put me on this ship by force! It will be the only way you will get me off of it!" Felicity challenged. She did not really feel up to a fight just then. Although she had no nausea, her head was hurting like when she'd had the powders, only not as bad. Just enough to cause distraction and discomfort. She wondered if she had been given the powders with all of her meals. It would certainly account for her drowsiness.

"Look, Felicity," Forsythe began, getting irate, "do not make me have to get the Gooch here to haul you off, because he will do it. He will put you over his shoulder and take you down the side ladder to the long boat kicking and screaming if he must. Not only will you have forced me to treat you indignantly, but you will have shamed yourself in front of this crew."

"_So_?" she retorted brazenly. "_You _have them convinced that I am a lunatic anyway! They most likely _expect _me to be kicking and screaming! And why should I care about the opinions of people who care no more for me than I do for them?"

"Because _I _do!"

"And I still do not!"

Their raised voices would have indeed attracted attention beyond what crew was nearest to them, had it not been for the sounds of port activity, men calling to one another from quay side to ship and from ship to ship, the squawking of the gulls the wind, and the people on the quay going to and fro, selling their wares, food or anything else they had. Despite Felicity's crisis, life was going on obliviously here in the port of Bristol, England.

Forsythe fumed. "So will you or will you not descend the ladder of your own effort?"

She winced sharply at him. "I absolutely will _not_! Won't, won't, won't!"

"Felicity! You are being a child!" Forsythe cried as he stamped his foot childishly.

So it was Felicity Merriman found herself flung over the shoulder of the Gooch like a boneless doll. Like a sack of flour, staring down at the dark blue water with wide, apprehensive eyes. Apparently, she'd been brought aboard in the same fashion, although unconscious. She almost considered squirming and slipping out of the burly hunter's grip so that she could plunge into the water and sink like a rock to its darkened depths. 'Twas a tempting thought, indeed. But with all of the men about, on the ship and waiting in a second long boat with Forsythe's luggage, her luck would have them dive in and fetch her back up. She had heard Mrs. Trent once say that there was never a man around when you needed one, and plenty around when you do not. Damned if that wasn't so.

Sure, they would dive in after her should she drop, but not a single blasted one of them would listen to her about being taken against her will from the colonies. She was, after all, 'a poor young thing suffering from grief-induced insanity,' thanks to Reginald Forsythe, who sat in the long boat awaiting her descent while barking up at the Gooch to _be careful with her_, _damn you_, _and do not let her slip!_

Once she was in the long boat sitting across from Forsythe and glaring deadly daggers at him, she refused to look around at the port or the ships that were anchored so close to the quay that their masts were higher than the buildings' chimneys and their prows were nearly knocking on doors. She was not interested in watching how the big vessels managed to maneuver around each other without incident. She would not look around at the crammed buildings and the steeple of majestic St. Mary Redcliffe looming not too far off in the distance. She wanted nothing to do with this place or its inhabitants. She was very busy thinking about what she was going to do to help herself.

If there was anything she could do at all.

Her head hurt some and her energy was low. That was why she did not resisit Madame Helga's prodding her in the back to hurry up and let the footmen assist her up on the quay when the long boat rowed up alongside of it. She did see the curtained carriage waiting for them, it's driver dressed in rich maroon and wearing a tidy powdered peruke. A coachman waited by the carriage door, dressed in the same garb and looking just as stiff and tired as Smedley usually did.

Felicity briefly wondered if Forsythe gave all his servants the powders, too.

"Ah, 'tis good to be back in the city!" Forsythe breathed fully, his chest puffing out as if he deemed himself the mayor of it as the men put his trunks on the back of the carriage. Never mind the looks from the people passing them by who wore clothing that seen better days. People who's livelihoods depended on whatever profit they made selling their goods that day or were employed in business that required the use of their entire bodies, if not their entire families, young children included. In essence, the very people Reginald Forsythe liked to look down upon.

"My lord," Smedley whispered stiffly as he waited alongside his master, "I suggest that we do not tarry much longer."

"Indeed, old man," Forsythe agreed. He looked at Felicity. "The lower classes do not care much for higher society, you see. They believe that if everyone cannot be poor and desperate as they are, then they must be punished. Do get into the carriage now, my dear. Someone may take it upon themselves to start throwing rocks."

"And if I felt up to it," said Felicity bitingly, "I would take it upon myself to join them!"

"Heh heh!" laughed the Gooch, nudging Forsythe in the back with an elbow. "Too bad the trip didn't knock the sass out of 'er, eh yer lordship?"

Forsythe rolled his eyes. "Get in the carriage, Felicity."

A footman was holding the door open, waiting to assist her. She saw she had no choice but to do just that. With Smedley and the Gooch standing uncomfortably near, and an able-bodied coachman just to her left, her chances of taking off on foot and getting away were tremendously slim. She could get past them and hurl herself into the water, of course, but there were still plenty of sailors around to rescue her. There was a notion that some of those 'lower class good-for-nothings' might help her escape a much despised 'upper-class holier-than-thou,' but she was not going to get to find out, for she was hastily ushered into the carriage.

'Twas the same arrangement as the ride to Yorktown; Felicity beside Madame Helga, Forsythe and Smedley across from them, the Gooch sitting up top with his pistol in case the carriage was accosted by highwaymen or the like. But in this ride, the paisley curtains were not drawn-and why should they be? No one knew her here. She could scream like mad and no one would care because they did not know she'd been brought here against her will, and despite being loathed, the local gentry could afford to have meddlers 'disposed of.' Money governed here. A local authority could be paid off happily, and no one could do anything about it.

At least that is what Felicity had learned from Elizabeth and Mr. Cole. Just one of the many reasons why the Coles felt it had been time to move from England to one of His Majesty's Colonies. Mr. Cole did not like the way Parliament dealt with-or in this case, _didn't _deal with the running of the government itself. Sure Mr. Cole was loyal to his king and country, but not to Parliament.

Felicity closed her eyes and breathed deep, attempting to get control of the growing knot of dread and anger in her chest. It still had not sunk in that she was really in England, the homeland of two of her best friends...the country who's king the colonies had been at war with. She was still in a daze of fury and headache. She was constantly guarding against succumbing to _heart_ache and sadness over being taken from her family, resisting the urge to bawl over losing Ben. Yielding to despair now certainly would be the path to insanity! And she was quite certain that Forsythe would love for her to be truly insane. _Well, he will not have THAT satisfaction, either! _she thought vengefully. _I must stay clear-headed so that I can think of what I am going to do_. _My head hurts...but I can still think! He will not have me_, _he won't! I will find a way!_

She was forced out of her thoughts by the jolts and rattling of the carriage. Apparently, they were on a cobbled street, somewhat going uphill. She did manage to glimpse through the window on her right the rising of the Dundry Hills to the south. Of course she knew not what they were called, only that under different circumstances she would have thought them to be beautiful. Bristol was indeed a very hilly place.  
Eventually cobbled streets became somewhat smoother dirt roads, and between flinching awake and nodding off, Felicity was aware of the carriage either going uphill or downhill. Carriage rides always made her drowzy to begin with, but she was not convinced that she wasn't under the effects of any powders. She was aware that they had left the city, for buildings and city sounds had become less and less, diminishing and fading, and rolling hillsides could be seen through all windows.

She didn't need to ask where she was being taken: Forsythe Manor, no doubt. It made her cringe inside, yet resolve that no location she was brought to would affect her decision about her quite possible, self-inflicted fate.

"I am looking into having a home built in Clifton," Forsythe told her, speaking to her for the first time since the carriage ride began. Up until now, he had been chatting with Smedley about local bridges, tolls, and some prattle about the Society Of the Merchant Ventures, which Forsythe's father used to belong to. He was smiling proudly, a gleam of superiority in his small hazel eyes. "Clifton is fine living, you know. You can look down upon the Avon Gorge from high upon the hilltop."

If this was also meant to impress her, it clearly didn't. She merely sneered. "And you do certainly enjoy looking down upon people, don't you. I seem to recall a saying about pride going before a fall. Perhaps I shall have the opportunity to shove you off that hilltop and into that gorge before long!"

His haughty smile vanished. "Felicity, must I remind you that this rebellious attitude will not be tolerated in my home?"

"You may remind me all you like, but if you do not want it tolerated in your home, then do not put me inside of it!" She blinked at him indifferently. "I do not want to be in it to begin with!"

"But it is _your _home now. You _will _act accordingly!"

"I will _not_."

Forsythe gripped his walking cane's greyhound head with tense hands. "When you see that you have no other choice, you _will_."

"Or what?" She cocked an eyebrow daringly. "You will give me your powders to make me insensible? Go ahead, then. I prefer them to _you_!"

"I do not enjoy having you sedate," Forsythe said explainingly. "But you will come around. Eventually you will miss your family and long to see them. _Then _you will do as is expected of you."

"And I will wager that I _won't_." Felicity explained back at him evenly.

"So we shall see."

She glared at him a moment longer, then turned her gaze out the window, lest she launch herself at him tooth and nail if she looked at him any longer than that. And oh how she wanted to! She actually twitched in her seat. But she was immensely tired, feeling drained and sea-weary. She _would _get her energy back-she was determined to! Then she would figure out a way to help herself.

* * *

The entrance to Forsythe Manor and its estate was a bit more foreboding than Felicity had expected it to be, yet it did not surprise her at all. Black wrought-iron gates taller than the ones around the Governor's palace in Williamsburg and quite Gothik-looking were swung open by a disgruntled-looking old gentleman who emerged from his little stone gate-keeper's house with a bent back. The long dirt carriage road was shadowed even further by tall spindly trees that lined either side of the track. Their long, gnarled twisty branches extended across and overhead.

_That _did not surprise her, either.

Once the carriage emerged from the cheerless tunnel of trees, the Manor itself was revealed in all of its half-Palladian, half-Gothik structured ominosity. The carriage path went in a wide circle before the great house and displayed within the grassy middle of the circle a Roman statue of some woman in robes, her expression forlorn. Felicity could not help but wonder if the marbled woman used to be a living being.

When the carriage came to a halt before the steps up to the portico, everyone made good time getting out except for Felicity, who remained seated inside, arms crossed. At Forsythe's urging, one of the coachmen leaned in to fetch her out, but received a loud, stinging _slap! _for his efforts.

"Now see here, Felicity," Forsythe sighed (as the stunned coachman quickly withdrew, holding his tender cheek with a gloved hand), "you will cease this nonsense at once!"

"No!"

"Felicity, come out of there this instant!"

"No!"

The Gooch was chuckling. Forsythe spared him an angry glare, then said firmly, "If you do not vacate that carriage immediately, I shall have the Gooch _get _you out!"

"You may _both _go to hell!"

Forsythe pointed to the carriage and said to the burly hunter, "Get her out."

Still laughing to himself, the Gooch leaned inside. There was a second's pause before those on the outside heared a loud, fleshy _pop!, _a gruff "Ow!" and then the Gooch quickly withdrew as well, both hands clapped over his bulbous nose. "She flicked me!" exclaimed he nasally. "Damn wench flicked my nose!"

Madame Helga pushed the Gooch aside with a thick arm. "Move avay, idiot! I vill get ze girl!" She inserted her bulk between him and the carriage entry, leaned in and clamped Felicity's closest wrist in one of her plump, labor-hardened hands and despite the girl's ferocious resistance, pulled Felicity right out of the carriage as if she were naught but a rag doll.

"Let me go!" Felicity demanded ragefully, trying with all of her might to twist, yank and pull herself free of the big woman's steely grasp. "I am _not _going in there! I don't _want _to be here!"

But no one paid her any mind. Gooch went to assist the coachmen in unloading the trunks while Smedley and Forsythe started up to the looming, dark-stoned house. Madame Helga followed them with a hold on Felicity's wrist so tight that Felicity was sure the blood flow to her hand had been cut off. She dug her heels into the gravel and yelled, "No! Let me go! I will absolutely _kill _you for this, Reginald Forsythe!"

Still, her physical and verbal protests went ignored. She was firmly yanked up the steps to the double black doors, both of which had gleaming brass gargoyle heads for knobs-to perfectly match the gargoyle heads with door knockers in their mouths in the center of each door. Their bulging eyes gave Felicity the thundering shudders. The big, dark stone manor also had a gargoyle perched on each corner of the building, which had to be three stories, not counting the attic.

Ivy vines crawled up the manor's facade, which faced south, snaking past dark windows that were perfectly symmetrical above each other on either side of the building's front. A huge stone urn on either side of the front double doors gave a depressing balance to the entry beneath the portico. Viciously Felicity thought about how Forsythewas the right size to be crammed down into one of the urns. And 'twas almost as if the urns symbolized death to anyone who entered.

Perhaps that was true.

Forsythe himself opened the black doors wide; the Lord of themanor was home once again! He was actually displaying that slanting, smug smirk of his. Felicity glared hatefully at the back of his long-wigged head as she was pulled inside. Smedley closed the doors with a dull _clunk _sound that reverberated off of the walls of the spacious foyer. Felicity stiffened defensively, feeling as if the lid to her own coffin had just been slammed shut and locked.

_No! I must not give in to despair! I must stay strong so that I will able to do what I know I must do! Ben hates me-he will not come for me. Father is badly injured-he could not handle a sea voyage even if he knew where i was! "Tis up to me to save myself, be it through death even! I will fight the bastard fop to the end!_


	5. Chapter 5: Forsythe 'Manner'

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, PT3, CH5: Forsythe 'Manner'

Just when you thought things could not get worse for Felicity...*sigh*

The spacious grand hall, as Felicity already assumed it would be, was not a warm or inviting place. There was a huge dark fireplace, unlit, just as cold as the dark stone floor they tread upon. The hall was pillared, with a stone staircase rising up out of the middle of it in cold majesty. Everything looked heavy and serious, unemotionally masculine, but Felicity was not surprised. What _did _surprise her was that someone as frilly and outlandishly dressed as Reginald Forsythe called this place home. But what struck her as being the most eerie-even more so than two suits of polished armour on display just inside the doors, the paintings of grim-looking men and women on the dark-plastered walls, or the ebony urns displayed in the wall recesses _between _the unfriendly portraits-were the maid servants of the manor, gathered at the base of the stairs. All but two of them were black, and therefore slaves. They wore drab grey and looked empty-eyed, none too pleased that the lord of the house was home.

They struck Felicity as being the sort of women who were rarely happy-and why should they be? They were _slaves_, they were owned by Forsythe. The two white women standing before the group were stiff-looking, prim and formal in their lighter-grey servant's uniforms, with white mobcaps and aprons that looked almost elegant compared to the drab of the slave womens' clothing. One of the white women was tall and spindly, with dark red hair and spectacles, while the other woman was chubby and brunette, with dark eyes that seemed to immediately suggest that she hid an attitude that most likely would make itself known just as soon as her lord's back was turned.

The two white women looked as though they were ready to address Forsythe as if he were a military general and they his soldiers.

"Genevieve. Esmerelda," Forsythe said in formal acknowledgement of the two white women. They curtsied, as did the slave women standing behind them. Forsythe smiled thinly at the them. "I am home for good this time. I assume everything is in order?"

"Yes, m'lord. 'Tis good to have you back," said Genevieve, the tall, spindley one, sounding like she was _not _the slightest bit happy he was home for good.

To the plump maid, he inquired "Have you anything to report, Esmerelda?"

"Nay, m'lord, all is well," reproted Esmerelda, who seemed to be thinking that having him home for good was not well at all.

"How is my mother?"

Esmerelda stepped forward, hands clasped behind her back, and said, "She fares the same as before, m'lord. Sits in her room or out in the garden, but still she does not seem to know anything or anyone."

Forsythe pursed his lips and nodded, as if this report was just what he had expected to hear. "I see. Perhaps I shall go up and see her this evening. Send someone to tell her that I have returned."

"Yes, m'lord." Esmerelda seemed to be the type who, although obedient to her master, had something going on behind her grey eyes that seemed to suggest that she had an attitude that did not hesitate to rear its ugly head once the lord of the house's back was turned.

Forsythe turned to Felicity, who was being held by the shoulders by Madame Helga in the shadows, gestured at the servants with his greyhound-headed walking stick and said, "Felicity, this is Genevieve, my head of female staff, and that is Esmerelda, head of kitchen staff." He turned his head to the maids, who gazed at the bewildered young woman being held still by Madame Helga with scrutinizing, unapproving eyes. "Ladies, this is Felicity Merriman! I have brought her here from His Majesty's colonies to be my wife and the new Mistress of this house!"

"I am _not _going to marry you!" Felicity snapped through gritted teeth, not caring one whit about what the maidservants of Reginald Forsythe were thinking of her. "You stole me from my family and brought me here against my will! And as soon as you are within reach, I am going to get my hands around your throat and make you plenty sorry!" She struggled against Madame Helga's grip but could not get free. If she had been able to, instinct and rage would have propelled her to make good on her threat.

But Forsythe ignored her completely. "She has suffered tremedous shock, having been a victim of the Patriot rabble-"

"I have _not_!"

He ignored her still. "She has been affected mentally and emotionally, and I know that in time, her personality will be calmed once more under my care and affections-"

"Like hell!"

Again with the ignorance. "So I ask that you give her space and plenty of patience while trying to overlook her..._afflictions _as she settles down-"

" _'Afflictions'_?" Felicity's green eyes went even wild in outrage. "I am not afflicted with _anything _but a plague of _you_! You took me from my family and forced me here! I will not be calmed, nor will I ever become calmed, and I absolutely _WILL NOT MARRY YOU_!"

Forsythe merely smiled his thin, uppity-stiff smile, turned to helga and said as casually as could be, "Madame, will you please show my fiance to her room I chose for her so that she may rest and refresh herself?"

"I am not your fiance, you _weasel_!"

"Come along, Missy!" bossed Helga, steering her squirming charge toward the grand staircase. The black slave women quickly stepped aside, giving the burly Swedish woman plenty of room to drag the unruly girl from the colonies up the steps. "Your days of spiteful behavior are over! You vill learn t'be a lady and vife of a lord!"

"Oh no I won't, Madame she-bear! I am the victim of a wrongful snatching! If you do not let me go I will make the most trouble for this place you've ever seen! I'll raise more hell than Satan himself could manage! I'm not afraid of you! I'm not afraid of anyone here! And if you think for one that I will ...!"

As the girl and woman exchanged loud declarations furthur on up the staircase, the black women glanced at each other nervously, Genevieve and Esmerelda exchanged a look that clearly said, 'This is not good,' and Forsythe himself just sighed and rubbed his forehead aggitatedly. Bringing Felicity Merriman to the manor had not gone at all the way he had imagined it would. Why did she have to be so defiant? why couldn't she just see all of this was done for her own good as well as _his_? Women were _supposed _to be submissive and demure!

_But Lucille was this way, too. So full of life and energy! Lucille needed proper tutilage, too, and she would have become the finest of gentlewoman as I grew to become a fine gentleman, and then she and I could have-_

"M'lord!" shrilly whispered Genevieve, scurrying over to him with Esmerelda hot on her heels. "That girl is a hellion! Why choose a girl of no class or breeding-a _commoner_, m'lord! She's nothing but brash lit'l chit!"

"The situation is under control, Genevieve," assured the actually _un_assured Reginald Forsythe, pinching the bridge of his skinny nose. "I want her, so she is here."

"B-but...the American colonists are so _uncivilized_!"

"Genevieve, I do appreciate your concern, but the matter is settled. I have chosen her, and there will be no more tiff about it. She is distressed, that is all. Traumatized, you see. Once she and I are wed she will see that she has no choice but to settle down and enter into her role as wife and lady of the house."

As part-head of the maid-staff at Forsythe Manor, Genevieve did not like the soaund of that. Not one bit.

"Which reminds me..." Forsythe spun, turning to Smedley, who had been patiently waiting the orders which he knew were coming. "See to it this message is delivered to the rector of St. Mary Redcliffe before evening. Be quick about it." Forsythe pulled a folded parchment from his inner coat pocket, sealed with the wax impression of his family's crest, and handed it to the expectant old gentleman. "I want to start the process immediately."

"Of course, m'lord," acknowledged Smedley blandly.

" '_Process_,' m'lord?" inquired the plump and inquisitive Esmerelda, also not liking this blunt intrusion of the lower class.

Forsythe gave her an irate 'What of it?' look and replied, "Why, the publication of the banns, of course!"

"Oh," sighed Genevieve and Esmerelda in grevious disappointment.

"And Esme," instructed Forsythe smoothly, "I want you to augment a large pinch of _this _to everything my fiance consumes." He handed Esmerelda the vial of white powder.

"Your mama's powders, m'lord?"

"That is correct. It will help calm her down so that she will be...more agreeable. As head of kitchen staff, you are to oversee all meals that are prepared for her. Make damn sure she gets it. 'Tis imperative."

"Y-yes, m'lord." She curtsied quickly and took off for the kitchen, scolding at the balck women she was in charge of to hurry along.

"Now I myself will freshen up for dinner. It has been a most tiring morning." losening his overly-frilly cravat. Forsythe started up the stairs with a lot on his mind.

Watching him ascend, Genevieve quickly drew close to Smedley and whispered, "_Why _has he chosen to take an ill-bred for a wife?"

Smedely sighed stressfully. "Because she bears a startling resemblance to the late Lucille Elswick."

Genevieve gasped, brought her bony hands up to her mouth. "Indeed! The governess in that painting 'e used to sit and stare at all the time!"

"Yes," affirmed the irritated butler. "He believes that he can make that girl over into the dead one."

"Bosh!" scoffed Genevieve in dislbelief. "That 'girl' is as uncivil as I've ever seen! Aint no way I am going to take orders from _that _lit'l wench! I have not spent a whole heapin' chunk of me life trainin' his negros just to give over to the likes of _her_!"

"Be quiet, woman," Smedley advised in a low tone. "He will listen to no one. He is beyond reasoning. It should give you some assurance to know that the girl has no desire to be his wife or mistrss of this house. She is quite adamant about that."

With intensely curious eyes, Genevieve whispered, "Did he _really _snatch her away from the colonies, Mr. Smedley?"

The blank-faced butler was quiet for a moment. At length he replied, "Depends upon how you view the situation, Miss Peach. His rationale is that he rescued a beautiful girl from the ravages of uncivil society who just happens to resemble the late Miss Elswick."

"But did 'e just steal her away from her home, like she's yellin' about?" pressed the maid persistently.

Again there was another contemplative pause. "Yes. I suppose he did." He sounded as if the fact had just occured to him.

Genevieve's eyes went wide and her mouth agape. "So it's true! But still, _why_-"

Smedley stared her directly in the eye with quietly burning forcefulness. "I _told _you why. And you will not say anything to anyone about it, lest you wish to lose your job, and I know you do not, because with England spending so much money on war the lords of the land are not exactly seeking maids and butlers for hire. Do we not understand each other, Miss Peach?"

Genevieve gulped, her pressing intensity immediately turning docile. "Aye. Of course, Mr. Smedley." In other words, it was 'keep your mouth shut and you will not get fired or end up in the bottom of a ravine because you know things that you should not.' Genevieve was not entirely oblivious to how the Forsythes disposed of trouble.

"Very good. Now I believe we _both _have work to attend to..." Hands clasped behind his back, he turned and left her standing there to think.

And what she was thinking was how much she hated the nuisance colonist that had just been brought into this house. Not even from a family of wealth and title! Not even _English_! Lord Forsythe had always been odd, but this just beat all she had witnessed since she had come to work for the quirky family. _So let 'im have the lit'l trollop! Just as long as she does not interfere with my control!_

* * *

The room Felicity was taken to was eerily bright and elegant compared to what she had seen thus far of Forsythe Manor. Madame Helga had slung her into a room that had sky-blue walls above whait dados and wainscoting, a white marble fireplace unlit but displaying various porcelean figures of Roman women on its mantle, white furnishings and a bed with four tall iron posts with muslin drapery over an ironwork canopy.

As soon as Felicity was slung into the room the door was shut and bolted from the outside. Felicity whirled around and screamed in anger, started at the door to commence pounding and hollering, but stopped just short of running into what she thought at first was the doorless wall. She blinked rapidly in confusion, wondering where in blazes the door went, but upon closer inspection saw that the room had a jib-door-the type of door that seemingly disappeared into the wall around it. That still did not relieve any of her rage and nervousness, though. The door was still bolted on the outside.

Her hands in fists, she kicked furiously at the door's white lower half. She was not going to accept this. There had to be another way out! But then, where in God's name would she go if she did escape? Would she be able to find anyone that would listen to her and help? Just because this was England did not mean that everyone in it was like Forsythe!

Felicity paced back and forth, from bed foot to fireplace, her mind spinning like mad, her every emotion strained to a near breaking point. There had to be something she could do! The thought of her life ending in this bizarrely bright room within a house that was more like a glorified dungeon was just unbearable! If it came right down to it, she would be willing to die here by her own hands-smash that silver hand mirror on the white vanity dresser and cut herself open with a shard of its glass was a thought-but if there was a way, any way at all, to get out of here alive, then she'd do it!

And there just had to be a way!

She strode over to one of the room's two tall windows and flung apart in the middle its dark blue swirly flower patterned curtains. Right away she began trying to lift the sash, emiting little grunts of frustrated effort. It was difficult, but she managed to get the window open just enough to stick her head out of it and look around; to her left, the ivy vine snaking up the manor's front went past the window. Just from looking at it she could tell it was nowhere near strong enough to support her for a climb down. Though she was only on the second floor, it was a high second floor. She was sure to cause herself serious injury if she dared to dangle from the sill then attempt to drop on down.

As if broken bones were worse than being Reginald Forsythe's captive! There was nothing to her right that would be to her advantage at all. There were no trees close to the house, no shrubbery below to drop into to break her fall (she thought briefly of Arthur Pratt and prickly bushes, so long ago!), and nothing at all useful at other windows on this floor. That settled that, then; escape by window was not an option. Not a physically safe one, anyway. She swore, drew her head in and shut the window angrily, and with greater ease than she had gotten it open.

With her arms folded tightly against the chilly winter air outside, she walked back to the bed and sat down on the foot of it, glaring intensely at the dark blue square rug that covered alomost all of the room's hard wood floor. She bit her bottom lip. 'Twas so hard to think when her head hurt and she had little energy! Getting upset now was not going to do her a bit of good, either, but she felt the familiar rising of helplessness and despair rising in her chest and throat, threatening to clog her breathing if she did not let it out. I'm so tired! So drained. My head nags me and I just want to go to sleep and never wake up!

But she was only human. Even the strongest emotionally of humans had to have a breaking point, a need for release. She missed her family so very much. And this was even Yule-time! Though he hated her, she missed Ben terribly. She missed Elizabeth and Arthur. And Penny! A soft sob escaped her throat against her will. Everyone was so very far away! A whole mighty sea-world away, and here she was in England.

Alone.

The notion of 'if you do not save yourself, nobody else will' coursed through her mind and soul. Even the strongest heart needed to unload. So she allowed herself to cry some at last, quietly but hard. She even laid back upon the bed and wept into the bend of an arm until she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. 'Twas so hard on the soul to be on one's guard all of the time! She knew she mustn't let that guard down for long. There had to be a way out.

There just had to be!

Later that very evening, the door unbolted and Reginald Forsythe strolled in, findinf Felicity seated at a skinny white tripod table, eating the rest of a late meal of beef stew. She looked wary of him, drowzy and moody, but at least she was eating. She glared up at him with muted green eyes burning with hatred as she spooned her beef stew. To his tremendous dismay, however, she was still wearing the same dark green day dress she had been wearing when she left Williamsburg; it was dingy with tears in it here and there where it had either snagged on something or just became worn from continual wear. Her red hair was terribly mussed and ratted-she looked like an actual with, he thought. He did not like it and her told her so.

"Well! I expected to find you just as refreshed and rested as I am, or at least wearing one of the lovely gowns in the wardrobe I had made for you over there, but here you are, looking as if you have been out harvesting potatoes in a wind storm!" He himself was wearing an ensemble of royal blue over white. His even frillier cravat nearly came up to his chin, and the cuffs of his blouse poofed out from his coat sleeves, reminding Felicity of the way corn kernels look when they had been popped over an open fire.

Had her head not been nagging her and her whole body not been feeling so lethargic, she would have pointed at him and laughed her head off.

"I do not want your gowns," she told him evenly. "I do not want anything of yours."

He sighed, pulled up an elegantly carved white chair across from her and sat down in it, folded both of his white gloved hands over the head of the walking stick. It unnerved him how even after having administered powders to her last meal, she was still fighting the effects even after a tiresome sea voyage. "You may as well cease this rebelliousness, Felicity. It will not help you any."

"No more than your forcefulness will help you," she vollied back flatly.

"Ah, but my 'forcefulness,' as you call it, has already accomplished my getting you to England and into my magnificent home!" He gestured wide with a gloved hand. "Do you not find your new surroundings to be extremely pleasant?"

"Nay, I do not."

"Nevertheless, Felicity, you will grow accustomed to them just as you will to me." His chin came up with a smirk. "I have come to tell you that we will be wedded by the end of the week."

Felicity's insides clenched with tension and fury. However, she dared not let him see how much she feared that revelation. If he was awaiting a reaction of some sort he would get none. Finished with her soup, she laid aside the silver spoon and said blankly, "I will not marry you."

"But you will, my angel. You have no choice. If you wish to see your-"

"Oh, _that _again!" she interrupted seethingly. " 'If I ever want to see my family again, I must do this and I must do that.' And I am telling you my family would understand my refusal. What are you going to do to me, Reginald? Deny me food and water until I give in? Go ahead, then! I'm ready to die-I've just spent a month and a half at sea making peace with my Lord in preparation for death. There is absolutely nothing more you can take from me because you have already taken all that I cared about. I have nothing left but my life, and I am ready to end it." She smiled briefly, wickedly, for emphasis.

Forsythe fumed inwardly. It bothered him immensely that she was right: He had taken her from all that she loved. What else was there but her life? He had nothign to threaten her with, but then he actually did not want to threaten her at all. He wanted her to come to him willingly, submissively, like he had wanted Miss Lucille to remain with him. Surely she would see that becoming a wife would have to change her!

"You are a woman," he attempted to reason yet again, trying to remain calm and unaffected. "'Tis a woman's place to yield to a man when she becomes of marrying age. Perhaps they do not teach you that in that uncivil colony from whence you came, but I am trying to instruct you in the refined, proper and acceptible ways of life. A girl is under her father's keeping and then her keeping is transferred to that of her husband."

Felicity braced herself coldly. "And because you tell me so, I must unthinkingly obey at once?"

"Yes!" Forsythe smiled encouragingly. "That is quite correct!"

"Well then, *Casse-toi, pauvre con," Felicity stated viciously with a snarly smile, and Forsythe, who understood his French, grew red with anger.

"You will not say such disrespectful things in my house!" he ordered hotly.

But Felicity remained docile, albeit burning with anger. "I do not even _want _to be in your house!"

He stood up fast, bristling, and tapped the end of the walking stick on the floor with each emphasized word. "Now you listen to me! We are to be married by the end of the week. You therefore have four days to get used to the idea. And if you do not start behaving like the wife and lady you were meant to be, then I'll-I'll-"

"What," encouraged Felicity darkly and daringly, "have me whipped? Starve me? Put me in a dungeon in leg irons? Fine. You do all of that if it makes you feel better. But those are all situations that quickly lead to death, and I just told you I am ready for that. I much prefer death to you, anyway you look at it!"

His breathing quickened, his cheeks reddened, and he seemed to be at a momentary loss for words, for his mouth opened and shut several times, but no sound came forth. Felicity folded her arms tightly against herself, leaned back in the chair and just stared at him defiantly. He gulped, his struggle to maintain his control obvious. "You-you will- I will increase your dosages of powders threefold! You will be so senseless that you will have to do as I say willingly! I-I will show you who is in control here!" He strode away from her little tripod eating table to the jib-door. "Lucille would never have treated me this way! She would have never defied me the way you do!"

"But I am not Lucille," she told him evenly. "And I will not marry you."

"Yes you will!" His beady hazel eyes flicked over her fiercely. "You will have no choice since you will not be coherent enough to stop it from happening! The rector will approve our union because I am telling him that you have been traumatized by war in the colonies and that my love alone can heal you! When he sees you under the effect of the powders he will sympathize! I have it all explained to him, and he will marry us! The generous donation I've made to his church funds has helped sway any uncertainty of my story he might have had in the beginning. Accept it, Felicity. You are mine at last!'

"Never!' she hissed vengefully.

"And another thing-since you refuse to make your physical appearance a priority, I will have Madame Helga force you to clean up! And if you defy her, I will make it a point to come and watch!"

Felicity winced sharply.


	6. Chapter 6: 'Lettie'

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Part3, CH.6: 'Lettie'

The disclaimer dance: I don't own nothin', I aint claimin' nothin', this is all for love!

So it was that night she was _forced _to take a bath, _forced _to get out of her ragged, dirty dress and _forced _to take a pristine, fancifully ruffled nightgown from the room's white-painted wardrobe. She was then plopped down into a chair before the vanity mirror, scowling heavily as Genevieve brushed out her damp red tresses with the silver boar's hair brush and Madame Helga stood nearby, arms folded, watching for rebelliousness.

"Vell now!" exclaimed Helga with sarcastic victory. "Dere is a clean young voman in dere after all!"

"But still a rebellious one!" Felicity reminded the two older women resentfully. "I am not here because I want to be. You both know it!"

"It don' matter what _we _think, Missy!" Genevieve growled authoratively, tuging on Felicity's damp hair with the brush. "The man brung ye 'ere to marry ye, s'now ye got to be civil!"

"Oh no I don't!" Felicity shot back quickly. "He does not own me, no man does! I did not consent to be brought here! OW!" She fliched at the sharp tug on her hair and glared into the mirror at the maid.

"But 'ere ye are, nonth'less," Genevieve continued. " 'E brung ye all this way, brought ye fine gowns made in London, and had this 'ere room all redone just for th' likes o' ye! No miss in 'er right mind would turn down th' chance t'be Lady of a fine manor!"

Felicity slapped her hand down on the dresser's top in anger. "Well I would! In fact, I did! He will not take _no _for an answer! He tricked me into this whole vile situation with the use of his powders-you don't think I am totally oblivious to that, do you? Really! I do not care for him one whit, nor his wealth, nor will I ever marry him. If I cannot marry for love, then I will not marry at all!"

Madame Helga laughed humorlessly, sounding just like a man fresh out of a tavern. " 'Marry for love'? Dat is a luxury very few can afford, miss, even among ze rich! You vill be better off being ze vife of a rich man dat you do not love! You vill learn to tolerate him and yield to your vifely deeds!"

"UGH!" Felicity whipped her head around to Helga so fast that wet tendrils of her hair slapped Genevieve in the chin. "I know what you're suggesting, and I am telling you right now that that is _never _going to happen! I'll be a rotting _corpse _before I share a bed with that lunatic weasel! He can fill me full of all the powders in the world and he still will not lay a hand on me, not as long as I live! How disgusting!"

Genevieve and Helga exchanged a look that said they agreed they believed _her _to be the lunatic here. Genevieve scolded, "Ye dumb girl! 'Tis a woman's wont to yield! Ye aint no child no more, ye understand ? Yer a woman now, and it's time t'take on the responsibilities of one!"

"Over my dead body!" Felicity cried.

"You cannot fight 'im," advised Helga sternly. "Your life vill be nutzing but absolute misery if you try."

Felicity pulled her damp hair out of Genevieve's grip and scowled "It already is! I do not want to be here any more than the two of _you _want me to be here! So why do you not just help me get away from him?"

"And risk losing our jobs, even our lives?" Genevieve looked more irate than terrified. "No thanky, Missy! Don' ye go gettin' ideas in yer head, neither. 'E has a way of gettin' what 'e wants. You just do as a grown woman should an' leave well 'nough alone!"

Clenching her jaw, Felicity rose from the vanity table and strode to the farthest side of the bed. "No, I won't! I will fight him to my very own bitter end! He has taken from me all that I hold dear, so if you think for one moment I am going to sacrifice my virginity just to make life around here easier for everyone, then you are sadly mistaken! He does not own me!"

"Ah, but you vill see how wrong you are, and soon," Helga warned as she and Genevieve started for the jib door. "Ze Forsythe family alvays have dere vay!"

Felicity's frown deepened. "What do you mean by that?"

"You didn' know?" Both women paused at the door to stare back at her, half-surprised, half-amused. Genevieve sneered with malicious delight. "Why the Forsythes are slavers!"

* * *

There was a fire going in the white marble fireplace, but she still felt a deep chill. Even beneath the heavy white bedcovers she was trembling a little, but Felicity Merriman knew it was all coming from her nerves. Here she was, in England, locked up inside a room within the home of a man she utterly despised. 'Twould have been the easiest thing in the world to fall into madness, to scream and scream until she no longer had a voice to scream with or a mind left to reason with. She had no choice but to eat the food she was given (and which she knew wholeheartedly was tainted with powders), wear the clothes she was provided with, and sleep in the bed that was in the room she was locked up in. She had her one and only affirmation to cling to: she had to survive just long enough to take her life at the right moment. Whatever Forsythe was thinking in his deluded mind, there would be no consummation of any so-called marriage!

Felicity curled up beneath the covers and wondered if it was the effects of the medicinal powders that was making her feel one step away from insanity, or if she was truly teetering on the edge. She sure wasn't feeling like herself anymore. The moment she woke up and found herself to be a mere speck on a ship surrounded by ocean as far as could be seen in any direction, she'd become an angry, vengeful wraith ready to pounce. But then, in her own defence, she considered that she needed to become a _bitch _in order to survive this wretched situation, even though she was totally convinced that she would never see her family again

Or Ben Davidson.

_So, I'll be the very best bitch I can be! _decided she, frowning with fierce determination. _'Twill help me endure until it is time for me to die. 'Til I must take my own life in order to save it. God knows, I do not WANT to die, but to be his slave-No, I cannot do that. I WILL not! There is no one here willing to help me. The powders make me feel tired and drowzy. What else can I do?_

She had thought about rushing the jib-door just as soon as it opened in the morning, forcing her way out and getting down stairs and out the front door. 'Twas a good plan if she could keep from getting stopped on the way out! And then there was the window again. She could tie sheets together, tie one to a leg of the heavy bed, and climb down at least far enough to jump the rest of the way. 'Twas worth the risk! Her forehead throbbed threateningly, reminding her that the pain was never far away if she tried to concentrate on anything too much.

_Slavery! _she thought with bitter hatred. _So that is what he's about! Should have known. Dreadful bastard! Just when I thought I hated him all I could! _Another thought popped into her head: _But Grandfather owned slaves. Rose and Marcus are slaves._

_But slavery was not Grandfather's life or business! And he treated them all decently. Rose and Marcus are like family!_

_But to wield control over someone else's life and make them live and work under your orders, no matter how decently you treat them otherwise, is STILL slavery. It cannot be justified. Ever._

So now, not only was she feeling lonely, miserable, lethargic and angry, she was also feeling stabs of guilt. _Her _family owned slaves. It had never occured to her that Rose and Marcus might wish that they were somewhere else, living free the way _they _wished to. _And now just look at yourself, Felicity Merriman! Taken from your home against your will, brought across a world of sea, locked up in a madman's home and expected to bend to his will. Doesn't feel so good, does it!_

She felt on the verge of weeping again. _No! No more tears! You MUST remain strong so that you are able to do you-know-what when the time comes! If you crumble every time you feel sorry for yourself, then Forsythe has won. You will have become exactly what he wants you to become: soft, weepy, weak and submissive. _(Her hand curled into a fistful of bedsheet) _He's going to be giving you more of the powders, so be brave. You cannot refuse to eat or drink because you need what strength you can get. With a shard of glass you can end it all faster than starving, which takes longer. At least you know what the powders do to you. Now if you can just hold on to your one goal..._

Her head started its warning throbbing again. Whatever Forsythe inended, _she _did not intend for any so-caled 'marriage' to be consumated. She had hoped that Ben would be the one to claim her virginity, but now that would never happen, so therefore, it would be for no man. The more she thought about it, she did not like the idea of a man thinking that he could do with her however he pleased. If men were to regard women as no smarter or no better than cows, then whyever did the Good Lord give female human beings mouths to speak with and minds to think with?

Damn, life was so cruel and unfair!

Her breakfast consisted of a creamy, buttery porridge and eggs with milk and tea to drink. It was brought to her lttle tripod table on a tray by the plump Esmerelda, who frowned upon Felicity with much disappointment, but said nothing. Madame Helga was present with whatever maid came into the room, and Felicity knew exactly why: In case she _did _decide to make a break for it, Helga was the appropriate choice to stop her, seeing as how the big Swede was just as strong as any man. So Felicity ate her breakfast sulkily, knowing very well that it was laced with those damnable powders-but she did not know just how much more was added to her food until about thirty mnutes later, after Helga had shoved a rich pink gown dotted with little red roses all over it at her to put on from out of the wardrobe.

Her head swam intensely. She felt almost as bad as she had that night she and Arthur Pratt left the Wetherburn Tavern. Her eyelases fluttered drowzily, and she was even unaware of mumbling things like "fop-a-doodle" and "Ooo look, cheesewheels!" She was only vaguely aware of being taken dowstairs by big Helga to one of the parlors full of dark mahogany furniture, but large oval mirrors in carved gilded frames to reflect the daylight that was coming in through the room's tall windows, which surprisingly had their thick heavy drapery pulled back. She was sat in a light grey upholstered chair which looked surprisingly feminine, and was at an angle to the closest window.

"What am I doing in here?" she demanded to know in a sleepy, moody mumble.

"Nutzing yet, Missy!" Helga put her big hands upon her wide hips, looking satisfied with how she had gotten Felicity sat up correctly in the chair. "Ze lord of ze mannor requests your presence. Only _he _knows vat he vants vith you!" She hastily beckoned to someone out of Felicity's range of vision. "Come here, Lettie! _You _vill be the von to serve her!"

Not really caring, Felicty turned her head to her left so that she could gaze blankly out of the window she was near. It faced the grassy circle in front of the manor, with the statue of the Roman woman in the middle. It was a sunny winter day, but she felt no warmth from the fire that was going in the room's black fireplace, no joy in seeing the sun after days of being at sea under an overcast sky. Not that she was looking for happiness _here_. She was doing good just to stay awake. Curling her fingernails into her palms seemed to work.

Into Felicity's view stepped one of the slave maids. But what finally got Felicty's attention was the young black woman's face. This 'Lettie,' although stony-expressiond with an air of utter remoteness and animosity, was strikingly beautiful, with her dark skin as smooth as some sort of chocolate cream, a tapered chin below full tight lips obviously alien to smiling. But her eyes were something Felicity had never seen before: They were a deep, dark brown and slightly curved upwards at the outer edges. Bewitching, mystical, were the impressions they gave Felicity. Thre was something dark and dangerous going on behind those eyes. Oh, this was no mere mad-the young woman looked more out of place than Felicity _felt_. There was no sense of helplessness or fear-driven obedience like Felicity had sensed in the other black slave women.

There was anger...perhaps defiance.

"Zis ist Lettie," Helga explained authoritively. "She vill get you vat you vant today. Genevieve has been told to send out ze vedding part invites."

Despite the sensation of feeling inside _and _outside of her own head, Felicity managed to glare at the burly woman resistantly. "I will not attend any such party."

Helga shook her head as if the girl's words were just jibberish to be ignored. "Oh, of course you vill, you silly thing, even if I am told to haul you in myzelf. Now sit dere and vait for your husband-to-be."

Even as Helga left, Felicity rolled her head back towards the window she was nearest to. "He is _not _going to be my husband. I hate him!" But the only one to her her rebellious statements was the quietly brewing Lettie, who continued to gaze down at the delirious red-head with passive dark eyes.

After a minute or so of heavy silence, during which Felicity nearly dropped off to sleep, the mysterious slave maid spoke: "Miss?" Her voice was low, tinged with the contempt of having to wait.

"Huh? What-?" Felicity jerked back to what half-consciousness she could hold on to and blinked up at the maid, who's mysterious, uniquely-shaped eyes held hers steadily. "Oh. You-you are Let-Let-Lettie?"

The young black woman said nothing.

"Can't think clearly," Felicity muttered grumpily.

After another strange moment of silence, Lettie again stiffly spoke, "Do you _require _something, Miss?" She spoke with an accent that Felicity had never heard before, but, even in her powder-induced delirium, found to be just as impressive as the maid's dark demeanor.

And Felicity felt immediately humble, embarrassed to be in this outrageous condition. She felt so unlike her true self! She closed her eyes and sook her head miserably. "No. I do not need anything. Don't _want _anything..."

Lettie promptly turned to leave the room.

"Except to be returned to my family," Felicity mumbled absently to herself, but Lettie stoped short, having overheard. The maid did not turn back around nor back up, but turned her head slightly to hear Felicity say, "That weasily fop-bastard..."

Lettie nearly smiled. Nearly.

Felicity had dropped off into an open-mouthed, snoring sleep sitting there in the chair when Forsythe strolled in, saw her, and shook his head- upon which was one of his long rolled wigs. He smiled crookedly, strolled over to the chair to lok down upon her. Even snoring under the effects of the powders as she was, she was still stunningly beautiful. With the back of a finger, he caressed her closest cheek. The contact jerked Felicity awake once more. Even with her senses dulled she knew who was standing beside her and that he was actually touching her. She flinched away from him and snarled sleepily, "Touch me again and I will bite that finger off!"

Forsythe chuckled and went to sit in the high-backed chair positioned toward the same window as Feilicity's chair and said, "Once we are married, I shall touch you as I please."

Oh the gall of that man! "Like hell!" Felicity stated, her nerves doing their best to harden in defense despite her sluggish state. "I will be dead before I allow that to happen!"

"So you say, Felicity. But you must accept that it is a woman's place to yeild to her husband. 'Tis the way of things, the way it has always been, my dear."

Lord, this argument never went anywhere except in circles! But if he was attempting to wear her down it would not work. She needed her stubborn streak now more than ever! "'Tis not the way with _me_! I will claw your eyes right out of your head, Reginald. You know I can do it, too!"

Indeed her did, for he frowned heavily. "Then I will simply have to administer stronger doses of the powders, as I have warned you before. I take it that you are not feeling so enabled _now_. Otherwise you would have already attempted an escape."

Felicity glared at him heavily. "Perhaps i do not feel sound enough to flee, but when it comes to protecting my very own person, I assure you, I am _more _than capable." She smiled groggily, but its snide intention was unmistakable."You have nothing to threaten me with. Did we not have this discussion already?"

He was definately fuming within. "There is always a way, Felicity. If there was not, you would not be here."

"I am not Lucille Elswick. I do not love you, care for you, nor can you make me. Once upon a time, I tried to be nice to you becuase I felt sorry that you had lost your father and your mother was in poor health even then. But because you could not, nor _would _not, take _no _for an answer, I have come to despise you as much as the devil himself!"

He cocked a very cocky eyebrow. "Your words no longer sting me, my angel. When I was seventeen they would have, but not now. I merely undrstand that, like Miss Lucille, you lack the proper discipline. But _unlike _Miss Lucille, I can remedy that." Seeing her confused expression, he smiled wider. "I am now debating on the next course of action to take in your tutilage." Thus said, he steepled his fingertips and stared at her.

Felicity braced herself. "It matters not, Reginald you devil, for nothing you concoct will break me."

"Is that so?"

"It is absolutely, utterly _so_."

For once he did not have the grey-hound headed walking stick with him, but he seemed quite at esae to rest his arms upon those of his chair and express an eerie smugness that Felicity, even in her stupor, found immensely disturbing. "I assumed that would be your attitude still. Lucille was like you, only not so out of _control _as you. I am therefore considering having you whipped."

_What ? _The largest ball of nerve-fright she'd ever felt rose up in her throat, severely restricting her breathing and set her heart to racing despite the powders' efforts to subdue it. Her mouth went bone dry.

"What, have you nothing to say now, my dear?" drawled he, gloatingly. Clearly, he was enjoying watching her uncontrolled reaction to his intimidation. "No snapping outburst? No rebellious combacks? 'Tis most unlike you, Felicity."

Oh how her head swam! He meant to have her whipped! _Now _what was she to do? Give in? _NO! You must'nt! No matter what! There will still be an opportunity to end your life before he can carry out his wickedness!_

"You have until our wedding night to think it over," Forsythe continued, as if he was being gracious and lenient. "You will either come to my bed willingly, or the next day...need I say more?"

_I will be DEAD before nightfall! _she thought rebelliously. But she tilted her proud head up and replied aloud, "Do as you will, then. You may whip me to no end, for i will not even so much as approach any bed you are to sleep in! But do consider that if I am to be lashed like an animal, then I will constantly bleed and ooze all over you and be a fright to look at!" She could not believe she had just said such things, but she was finding out that there were a lot of things she could not believe were happening now.

Forsythe's superior smirk faded, but only a little. "I am not too concerned with the state your lovely body will be in, for after at least one lick you will have decided you will not tolerate more."

Damn him! "Oh, but I tolerate pain rather well," she vollyed back, trying to sound as unconcerned as he, "for you have already caused me the greatest pain I could ever endure by taking me from my family. _And _Ben!"

Mention of the former apprentice erased the smirk completely, granting him a stormy expression. "Do _not _mention that rebel bastard's name in my own home!"

"Ben!" she blurted, with all of the vehemence of an unruly child (albeit a drowzy one). "Ben, Ben, Ben, Be-!"

"ENOUGH!" Forsythe spat, gripping his chair's arms fiercely in his thin white hands. "You are testing me again, Felicity, and I will not have it anymore! If you do not wish to recieve your whipping now, then I suggest that you shut your mouth! I am quite tempted to have your intolerable childishness beat out of you this very minute!"

Felicity felt a burning hatred and defiance flaming inside of herself unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She would definately _not _be giving in to _squat_! "Now how would _that _look, Reginald? Appearing before the rector with you 'bride' all black and blue and bloody? What amount of money could you bribe him with to ignore _that_?"

He jumped to his bizarrely fashionable, paisley-shoed feet. "He has already agrred to perform the ceremony come what may! The banns are being posted as per regulation, but since there is no one in this entire country to protest them, they needn't be posted for long! We will be wed on Friday of this week , and you my dear, will either be too sore from a sound thrashing or too senseless from the powders to be protesting _anything_!"

Felicty felt as if she had just been doused with ice cold water, even on the inside. "Then do as you must! Just know that I take no part in this willingly, you weasel. Know that I utterly despise you and am sickened to death by you. I wish you straight to hell."

Forsythe inhaled sharply, glaring at her as if he was considering something most unpleasant where she was concerned, then ultimately smiled self-righeously again. "Yes, my dear, I do believe you wil be having a change o heart once you have recieved your discipline. It pains me to have to harm you, but 'tis for your own good. If I do not teach you respect and civility, no one will. Do enjoy yur supper." He nodded hs head to her and left the room, having regained his smug demeanor once more.

Felicity sighed stressfully. Never in her life thus far had she felt so all alone and so unlike her true self. Ben Davidson had told her, not long after he had returned from the fighting, that _when in war, one does whatever one must to survive. _She was finding this out to be terribly true! _This is MY war! And God help me, I'm having to be a snarling bitch just to survive! This is not how Mother and Ms. Manderly meant for me to be. But then,HOW exactly is one supposed to carry on when one has been snatched away and is under the threat of whipping? What proper etiquette does one apply to THIS!_

_Never wanted to be a gentlewoman, anyway...Would this have happened if I had been?_

Felicity was not aware that she had just spoke her thoughts out loud. There was no one present in the room to hear her, of course, but there was someone _outside _of it that did. A lone figure stod without a sound or motion at the door's frame. The young slave woman called Lettie had heard all that had Felicity had expressed to no one in particular, and was now staring at the floor, contemplating. The young white woman truly hated Lord Forsythe, it seemed. Indeed, very much. Didn't want to marry to him, didn't want to be Lady of the House.

Interesting.

Lettie raised her tapered chin in thought. Perhaps this willful white girl could be Forsythe's undoing.

CHAPTER FINISHED!


	7. Chapter 7: The 'Un'wedding

Felicity: An American Girl Romance PT3, CH7: The 'Un'wedding

Late December 1780

Felicity did not see Forsythe again until four days later. Against her better judgement she ate what was given to her for breakfast that morning, and as she suspected, the powders she'd been given began to work half an hour later. But this time she had been given the strongest dosage yet, and rapidly became immensely dizzy, utterly-mind-numbed, so out of it that she did not know if she was awake or asleep. Somehow, Helga and Genevieve got her into a satiny pink gown over satiny white petticoats with an great deal of lacy ruffling at he elbows, a low-cut bodice, and a rather high, pink-tinted wig that Felicity's delirious head want to keep dropping down, which in turn made the wig shift. Her feet were popped into heeled pink shoes that had a big pink rose on each one where a buckle usually went.

"This wig won't stay on her head long," complained Genevieve, who held Felicity upright in a chair seated at he vanity table. She and Helga got her seated just as the powders took effect, and 'twas a good thing, too, for Felicity was not fully conscious. The usually energetic red-head suddenly grinned sloppily and let her red head roll around whichever way the big wig wanted to tilt.

"Vat are you grinning about?" Helga grumbled irritably as she held up one of felicity's limp arms to try to get a white, satiny, elbow-length glove onto it.

"Hee Hee," Felicity slurred drunkenly. "I feel like a ploppy foppet! Er...a floppy poppy! Hee Hee! A floppy poppet!"

" 'E shouldn't have given 'er so much of that medicine!" Genevieve continued to complain as she watched Helga fuss with having Felicity's fingers in the wrong glove finger sockets. "What's 'e tryin' ter do, turn 'er into his mother? All _that _woman does is sit an' stare, or roam about like one o' th' walkin' dead!"

Helga crinkled her thin lips and wrestled with he glove fingers. "Vell, he has to have a vife in order to get the moneys dat vere put avay for him! His fadder probly thought he vould never marry, Heh heh!"

"But 'e could've chosen better!"

"He is von peculiar cuckoo, dat young man. But as long as I get paid, I vill not go about yelling it."

"But still!" Genevieve persisted.

"Dere!" Helga exclaimed, finally having won the battle of getting the fingers into the right sockets. Hastily she began the struggle with the other hand and arm. "Vy you alvays vant to complain? But...dat _vas _funny, vat you said..."

Genevieve frowned and looked confused. "What did I say?"

"Oh you know, about Missus Vorsythe, roaming about like ze valking dead!"

"Oh you know the legends of the dead rising from the grave. Corpses, you see," Felicity explained goofily in her state of delirium, "Dead folks. What walks around."

Genevieve rolled her eyes.

After the powdering and primping, all of which was done without Felicity's active participation, she was pulled to her feet and taken downstairs, and did not get her head even the slightest bit cleared until she felt the sudden jolt of a carriage starting out. And even then it did not surprise her to find herself in yet another carriage. She wasn't even sure she was awake! She was sitting beside big Helga and across from them sat Smedley and Reginald Forsythe, who was clad in frillier-than- maroon velvet with lavish gold embroidery on his coat and long ruffled cuffs at his wrists. Felicity managed to glare at Forsythe and mutter, "Where are you taking me _this _time?"

"Why, Felicity, have you forgotten?" Forsythe oozed with eerie calm delight. "This is our wedding day."

"Oh no..." She groaned drearily. "This has to be a nightmare...this cannot be happening to me..." Her pink-tinted wigged head rolled back as a helpless sound issued from her throat.

But Forsythe was not moved in the slightest. "Perhaps you feel that way now, my angel, given that you are young and have been without the proper tutelage for a lady, but soon you will learn the proper ways of a true gentlewoman and fall into your place as wife and mother."

If her breakfast had not already digested, she would have purposely stuck her finger down her throat and purged all over him and his maroon velvet. She attempted to clutch at her stomach in misery, but she could not even accomplish that. "I hate you," she moaned absently, feeling a new wave of illness crash over her that made her body feel like lead and her senses swim. 'Twas the sensation of being asleep and stunned by reality at the same time. Oh, those powders were _really _affecting her now! How was it that something could be created to make a person feel so in _and _out of their own body at the same time? It was pointless to try to focus on something bold and defiant to say when the spinning sensation totally dampened her efforts and repressed her responses.

The carriage was entering the city. Sounds of life, of other carriages in motion filled the air. Children shouting, horse-hooves upon cobblestones. Felicity was now just as oblivious to thier surroundings as people outside the carriage were to her. The powders had her looking and acting drunk, stupefied and right out of her pink-wigged head.

She wasn't even _aware _she was wearing a wig.

What else was there for her to do but give in to the effects of the vile stuff? Attempting to move the slightest bit was so much of a strain, and mentally focusing on something was just as difficult! Yet somehow she maintained a will power where she was bound not to let Forsythe have his way with her, no matter what manner of ceremony was performed. 'Twould be no _real _marriage. More like an act in a play, with the lead actress so full of potion that she could not recite her lines correctly-which she had been unwilling to do, anyway. Aye, that was what this was, a play. Nothing more. Not in Felicity Merriman's willful mind.

Forsythe however looked as proud as a (maroon) peacock. Lord of his domain. Deep in Felicity's subconscious, where things were felt more than thought, she wondered if she could appeal to this church minister for help. Convey to him the truth of her situation and find some help to get away.

Then it suddenly occurred to her that she had sunk into such a thick haze now that she could not even form a coherent sentence!

The black carriage pulled up to the majestic oaken doors of the beautifully gothic church of St. Mary Redcliffe, but Felicity was in too deep a brain-fog to look at anything. Not that she would not have much of the heart to see the beauty in anything in her situation. For all she was aware of, the carriage had just come to a halt before a big grey barn.

"It is time, my dear." Forsythe stated with firm anticipation.

So she was less-than-half aware that she was being pulled from the carriage by Smedley and Madame Helga without resistance, because her bones felt like heavy jelly and she could not summon strength to make them rigid. She was wearing a long white winter cloak so that she was not affected by the winter chill of late December. A blast of cold air might have helped to rouse her senses, but with Reginald Forsythe leading the way, Smedley and Helga had her ushered into the stately, shadowed church within a few minutes. The weight of the pink-tinted wig kept her head drooping forward and down, keeping her from getting a look at the church's grand nave and the high roof bosses of the impressive interior. 'Twas just as well, for she was loathing anything and everything associated with Forsythe. 'Twould be a shame to despise such a magnificent house of the Lord because of him.

A tall thin man in a neat, short white wig and the long black robes of a church minister appeared from the pews and into the long aisle. He spoke in low, pleasant tones with Forsythe and even smiled. Felicity tried to lift her head, blinked rapidly in a feeble attempt to clear her watery vision, but could only manage a brief semi-clear look at the minister.

_Oh my God, he IS a minister..._

"Mama could not attend, so we decided to be happy with just a simple ceremony, and have the festive dinner in a few days," Forsythe was saying to the rector, his mood light as if he had just been discussing the weather. "Mama is in too poor a condition to go anywhere, the sad dear. I'm afraid she no longer recognizes people, including me sometimes. 'Tis such an upsetting scene, to see her so blanck-minded..."

Though unable to express it or react to it, a warning bell was clanging in the small fraction of Felicity's mind that tried bitterly to cling to consciousness: _Is he trying to put me in the same condition as his mother? 'The walking dead' is how Genevieve described her! I cannot let THAT happen as well! Dear Lord how do I get out of this? I cannot think...falling asleep...falling..._

A curled finger slipped gently under her chin and raised it. The minister was looking at her. His eyes were dark blue and seemingly kind in a fatherly way. He had fine lines at the outer corners of his eyes, the paternal expression of a mild-mannered gentleman who could be someone's father. How did a man like this get bribed into performing a one-sided marriage ceremony? Could he not see the dull, unresponsive look in her eyes? Couldn't he see that she was not happy to be there? It was taking two people to hold her up!

"What is your name, my dear?" The minister asked gently.

Name. He wanted her name. She had to think about it...No, wait...thinking took too much strength. Her mouth was dry. Yet ever so groggily she managed to mumble "Fflissie."

" 'Felicity'," repeated the man, seeming to be satisfied with that. "And are you indeed from the American colony of Virginia?"

"Yes," came her delayed but absent, sleepy reply.

"Reginald Forsythe brought you here, is that correct?

"Yes!" she pushed out breathlessly...but the minister seemed to see it as her being roused in eagerness. She desperately wanted to say more, to blurt out that he had _forced _her to come here, _forced _her to do this, but she could not form a sentence fast enough, for the minister nodded with satisfaction at that, too, then turned to Forsythe, who was smiling quite smugly.

"Does she know where she is, my Lord Forsythe?" inquirted the minister pleasantly.

"A...ah..." She simply could not think! _Church, church, church, I am in a church! _She released a small whimper helplessly. _You are a man of God! Why can't you see what is happening here? _Without realizing it, a word tumbled from her lips that sounded very much like "Lurch."

Smedley sighed impatiently. The minister turned back around to her and said with a broad smile, "Ah, so you are aware that you have come to church to be married! Very good."

"And you know that this man wishes the very best for you, so that within the sacred bonds of matrimony you will begin the process of healing from your traumatic experiences in the colonies?"

Felicity's head swam. Words were not making clear sense to her! "I do, but he,,," And just like that, her knees went limp and she started to go down, but Smedley and Helga grabbed her up fast. She jerked, fluttered her eyelids sleepily. She had gone right to sleep whilst speaking!

Madame Helga made an interrupting coughing sound and said "'Tis her medicine, reverend. She alvays vants to nap ven she takes der medicine!"

Forsythe breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, good rector, she requires a medicine to soothe her nerves, as prescribed by my family's personal physician. Without it she would be back in a world of traumatic delusions. She is prescribed the same medicine as my mother."

"Vithout zem, his mudder vould be a sobbing, vetched mess," agreed Helga supportively, in a matronly fashion. She patted Felicity's shoulder so hard that the girl would have dropped to the floor for certain if Smedley had not tightened his hold on his side. He glared at Helga irritably.

"Indeed," further agreed Forsythe readily. "You are quite familiar with Mama-you know she is much worse off than my beautiful bride here. Under my loving care and supervision Felicity will recover and become the Lady of Forsythe Manor, where she will find her new life rewarding. So...may we now continue with the proceedings?"

"Oh! Oh yes, of course, let us begin," said the reverend with a happy smile. "I see that your butler and maid servant constitute as your witnesses, which is all very well-"

"Reverend," Forsythe interrupted with _forced _gentle hastiness, "need I remind you that all of the legal acquirements have already been taken care of with the help of my family's barrister? Seeing how my and my fiance's situation is termed 'exceptional' and further supported by my physician, there is no need to further delve into details. All has been arranged. Do proceed."

The reverend looked athe odd young lord quizzically for a moment, then turned to collect his Book of Common Prayer from where it was laying on the pew to his left. He cleared his throat in preparation for orating. "Let us proceed to the altar." According to the church's superiors, everything _had _been taken care of where the legal requirements were concerned, but the reverend still could not help but feel like this union was being rushed. And he had witnessed plenty of rushed marriages before, having been present at several Fleet Street marriages in London, but the Marriage Act had been passed in 1753; a couple could no longer have a clandestine union declared.

_And _young Lord Forsythe had done everything legally, albeit quickly. The young man's title and wealth most likely played a major part in getting this little ceremony arranged. But what complaint could the reverend make when his superiors had already approved the union? The bride did not seem to be...fully conscious. Aye, they had of medicines for nerves, all right, but in the reverend's opinion, she seemed to be a little _too _medicated.

Felicity was once again in movement, being taken down the aisle to the ornate, medieval-looking altar to stand before the reverend, who already had his prayer book open to the well-worn page of matrimonial vows, but it just didn't seem to be real to her. In her heart she knew what was happening, but her senses were useless in sinking it in. _An act in a play, _she thought dizzily. _Nothing more. 'Tis not happening for real.  
Wonder what my wedding to Ben would have been like..._

And the reverend began the ceremony with verses from Genesis 1: 26-28. It barely registered in her mind that she had heard those verses before. Forsythe had taken Smedley's place at her side, holding her up with his chin raised and a smug, victorious smile on his white face. He had won this battle, and he was most likely believing he had won the war as well.

_No! _Felicity decided, struggling to stay awake. _I WILL win the war! I cannot continue on like this, half-awake, half-asleep. I will become just like his poor shell-of-a-mother if i allow this to continue! From now on, I must stay a step ahead of him...And it seems that he prefers to give me those powders in larger quantity when he is expecting to carry out one of his big plans, like getting me on the ship. Getting me here...Oh no, falling asleep again..._Yet another wave of intense sleepiness was crashing over her where her eyelashes fluttered and she nearly sank to floor unconscious.

Forsythe's hold on her tightened.

_Oh how I hate him! He will NOT have his way with me! I will NOT do as women are told to and submit! I am STILL Felicity MERRIMAN! I am independant and owned by NO ONE!_

"...marriage is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly," read the reverend, "but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purposes for which it was instituted by God..."

Felicity did not know that an ocean-world away in the colonies, Benjamin Davidson was in New York, scouring the harbors for people who had information on a 'Lord Forsyythe' who wwas trying to return to Bristol, England with a beautiful red-headed girl of sixteen, who would be very unhappy and unwilling to go. She did not know that Ben had with him Caleb Haverty and Walter Wheaton to help in his search for her.

Felicity did not think that Ben Davidson was looking for her at all.

"Into this holy union Lord Reginald Maxim Forsythe and Miss Felicity Merriman now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now, or else for ever hold your peace..."

She did not know Ben was self-tortured over the way he had reacted that fateful morning, how he could not sleep at night or hardly eat. How scared he was that she was suffering at Forsythe's hands. Literally. She did not know that he was sick with worry and fear and self-loathing. That his nightmares continued on during the day, and would continue to do so until she was back in his arms forever, which was his only goal in life now.

"Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

She was not paying attention, of course. The temptation to lapse into sleep again was terribly irresistable; her eyes were not closed for long, however. Helga elbowed her in the side so hard that she simultaneously gasped, jerked and snapped her eyes open. She only had a moment to glare at the big woman and exclaim irately, "_What_!"

"Ze minister ist speaking to you!" Helga scolded out a corner of her mouth. "Answer heem!"

Forsythe knew she distracted and heavily medicated, so he asked sly, mindfully, "Felicity?"

"Yes?" mumbled Felicity, already back under the effects of the powders, her eyelids drooping.

"Excellent," smiled the reverend, now turning to Forsythe, who could not have looked smugger if he tried. "Now do you, Lord Reginald maxim Forsythe, take Miss Felicity Merriman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to..."

She didn't know how much longer she stood there while the reverend droned on, but once or twice she thought she saw a pig flying through the church's apses, and turned her head to 'watch' it, giggling mischeviously so that the rector had to stop reciting in mid-verse to blink at her and inquire as to what the matter was. but she could not stop snickering for several minutes.

"Stop zat!" Helga snapped under her breath, nudging the giggly girl some more. "Stop zat laughing zis instant!"

Forsythe sighed uncomfortably and Smedley rolled his tired eyes yet again. The reverend smiled sympathetically and said, " 'Twould appear your young bride is quite giddy!"

" 'Tis the medicine," replied Forsythe and Helga at the same time.

The reverend's smile thinned.

So in the course of the ceremony, whenever Felicity was required to give a response she was elbowed by Helga, which in turn spurred her to react verbally in a way that the reverend found to be a satisfying-enough affirmation. Of course Reginald Forsythe was quick in responding to _his _part, and because it was understood and accepted that his bride was 'under the supervision of a physician,' Felicity was not required to recite her part of the matrimonial oath. In her mind, she was an ocean-world away, exchanging vows with the only boy and man she had ever loved.

"I present to you now Lord and Lady Forsythe," completed the reverend authoritively, closing his prayer book. Forsythe immediately turned to Felicity, eager for a kiss with his thin lips puckered, but 'twas a blessing that at that very moment her head rolled back as she dropped into full sleep, complete with instantaneous snoring. Her pink slippered feet slipped out from under her but she was caught under the armpits by a gasping Madame Helga. The pink-tinted wig that had been dangerously close to sliding off of her head finally _did_, dropping to the floor with a thick plop.

The reverend nearly laughed out loud. He laid an encouraging hand upon Forsythe's shoulder and said, "Perhaps you should take your pride home now, Reginald. 'Twould seem she is...rather exhauisted."

"Indeed," muttered Forsythe in irate disappointment. He beckoned to Smedley, who had been very close to nodding off himself _without _the help of medicinal powders, and grumbled, "Collect her, will you? And _do _stop that obsessive sighing, old man! You are not quite that old, you know!"

Felicity was being held off the ground by big Helga, who gladly allowed Smedley to pick the girl up and carry her out to the carriage, snoring all the way. Helga collected the idiotic wig while Forsythe paid his stiff gratitude to the reverend. The uncertain rector watched them leave, unable to help but feel something was terribly amiss. Even if the union was approved and the circumstances explainable to the church elders' satisfactions, the befuddled reverend was becoming more and more uncomfortable with it. Yet what was done could not be _un_done.

Could it?


	8. Chapter 8: No Means NO!

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE: PT2, CH8: No Means NO!

The carriage ride back to Forsythe Manor was not what Reginald Forsythe envisioned it would be like: his beautiful young bride lay asleep on the bench across from him and Smedley and _not _encased in his eager grasp, but snoring like a passed-out drunk. Helga sat up top with the coachman because Smedley abhorred heights and would become violently ill. But Reginald _was _looking forward to his wedding night, whether his bride was or not. She was a wife now, his wife, and she would act like it by coming to him willingly or she would get whipped deservingly for it!

She was carried right back up to her room and placed on the bed upon their return. Then Forsythe asked that the maid servants leave him be with his sleeping wife. Genevieve and Helga exchanged wary looks as they quit the room, both of them knowing very well they were about to hear shrieks, curses, and quite possibly the smashing of throwable porcelain knick-knacks. The powders would be wearing off now. That spitfire girl was not about to accept being a wife.

Felicity was yawning as Forsythe sat down beside her on the edge of the bed facing her. He had never had any kind of experience with a woman before. Not ever. But he did not want this girl to know that, for he was a man, and a man was expected to already possess carnal knowledge entering into marriage, so that they could teach their virginal, innocent little wives what is to be expected. She had to be willing to submit. She _had _to. She had no choice now. It was be a wife or be painfully punished.

She was stirring some, not fully awake, so Forsythe chose that moment to lean over her, grip her by the shoulders, and move in for a kiss. His thin lips pushed weakly against hers, but it was enough to wake her instantly. Felicity's green eyes snapped open wide in revulsion; it took not even a second to realize what he was trying to do. She made a spitting, sputtering sound and shoved him with all the tense force she could gather having just woken from a medicated sleep.

Not having expected such a forceful rejection, Forsythe literally fell off the edge of the bed, eyes bulging and mouth open in shock. Felicity sat up quickly, wiping her mouth roughly with the back of first one arm then the other. She found herself to be a bit dizzy still, but she ignored it, for protecting her own person was an instinctive, intense objective.

"Don't you dare!" she yelled at him fiercely, swinging her legs and the whole of the pink silk gown over the side of the bed as she hastily stood up, swayed a little. "Ick! You try anything like that with me again, and I'll pound you into apple-butter!" Her fists balled at her sides, ready to defend her own honor.

Sprawled on the carpet, Forsythe stared up at her, startled, but then grew outraged. He scrambled to his feet, too. "You are my wife now, Felicity! You cannot and will not refuse me!"

"Oh yes I can and I will!" she shot back defiantly. "I am not your wife, for a marriage requires two _willing _people, and I am _not _willing!"

"You agreed!"

"You tricked me! You know what you did!"

Forsythe was a bit wobbly. "It does not matter, for the vows have been made and we are legally wed! Now do as you are bound to and remove that gown-!"

_Slap!_

The impact of Felicity's fast, cheek-stinging strike made Forsythe's head whip in the direction in which the slap was aimed. He popped a hand to his face and gaped at her incredulously, his chin trembling. For one brief, comical moment he looked so ridiculous that Felicity truly expected him to cry out for his mother.

He finally found his voice, albeit shakingly. "How-how dare you! You-you-you...Lucille would have _never _done that-!"

"I am NOT Lucille!" she hollered, gesturing crazily. "And I am no wife of yours or anybody else's! What is the matter with you? Is there something wrong with your head that prevents you from hearing the word 'no'?"

Indeed, he seemed not to be able to hear her _now_. He stood there, holding his cheek and staring at her, wild-eyed, as if he had been stunned into a paralysis or sorts. At length he gulped, mangaed a weak, angry expression and said shakingly, "I told you, Felicity, that if you did not give yourself to me willingly I would have you punished."

_Oh no..._

"I mean to make good on that promise!" Still holding his cheek, he spun on his unnaturally high heel and strode to the jib-door, slamming it shut behind him. But there was no sound of the bolt being latched!

Felicity realized that and hurried to the door. Unlocked! She flung it wide open...but nearly collided with the burly wall that was Madame Helga, hands on hips. Behind Helga was mysterious Lettie, who dark face was expressionless but who's even darker eyes burned into Felicity's green ones.

"Vat have you done now?" Helga demanded, sounding like a scolding mother. "And _vhere _do you zink you are going?"

"I want to get out of here!" Felicity screamed angrily, knowing better than to try to fight physically with the big woman but stood her ground anyway. "None of the rest of you care to have me here, so why not help me get away?"

Lettie's cool gaze went to Helga as well.

Helga pointed her stubby, chubby finger back into the room at arm's length. "Because vork ist hard to find, und I need zis employment! Now back in you go!"

Fists and teeth clenched, Felicity whirled while making a furious, frustrated sound in her throat and did as she was ordered. She stomped to the white marble fireplace then faced the burly woman in the doorway. "He is preparing to have me lashed!"

Helga stepped inside just long enough to allow Lettie admittance to the room, then moved back into the doorway. "Vell, zat ist vat you get vhen you defy your Lord und Master!"

"He is not my 'lord and master!' I utterly despise him, and you know why!"

"Zen you get vhat you are asking for!"

Before Felicity could yell another word in outrage, the quietly stony Lettie approached her and said coolly, "Your dress, Miss."

"My 'what'?" Momentarily distracted, Felicity rubbed her forehead.

"Your dress. I am to assist you in changing because Genevieve does not want to mess with clothing anymore." She spoke low and with that exotic accent that Felicity found so intriguing.

"I vill leave Lettie vith you," Helga told her authoritively. "Do not give her any of your sass und maybe you vill get to have dinner!"

"And what a shame _that _would be," retorted Felicity with bitter sarcasm,"having to miss my dinner-powders!"

"You have too much sass for your own _goot_!" Helga snapped, then slammed the door shut, leaving Felicity and Lettie in sudden awkward silence.

"Oh that woman is a hag!" Felicity fumed aloud, taking up nervous pacing from bed foot to fireplace. "I hate her just as much as I hate _him_! If either one of them believe for one moment that a thrashing is going to get me to sacrifice my innocence just to-" She stopped ranting, for Lettie had just spoken in a low tone again. "What did you say?"

Lettie's passively seething dark eyes met Felicity's uncertain green ones. Again she said, "He will not harm you to-day."

Felicity swept over to the young woman, her heart up in her throat. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean what I say," replied Lettie smoothly.

Obviously confounded, Felicity gulped despite a worry-induced dry mouth. "Please tell me ag-"

"His barrister has arrived unannounced. His business is in trouble. He cannot delay attending to it any longer."

Releasing a long pent-up sigh of relief, Felicity sank into the white chair at the vanity table sideways, so that she could wrap her arms around the back of it. "His 'business?' He is a slaver! What kind of 'business' is that for a human being?"

Lettie said nothing.

Felicity raised her mussed up red head and looked at the slave girl wearily. "How do I know that what you say is true?"

"You are not like the others." Lettie's emotionless eyes showed that she was not in the least bit offended by the question.

"The 'others'?" Felicity blinked in surprise.

"The other white women. You are...different."

"Oh. I come from the American Colonies- but not of my own free will, you see-"

"That is not my meaning," Lettie interrupted again, stonily. "You are rejecting of this place and its lord."

"Yes, well...Reginald Forsythe is no lord of mine. He stole me from my home,"

"As he did me," said Lettie emotionlessly. "Turn around. We need to be occupied so the big woman does not come back too soon. She listens for activity."

"Oh! Of course..." Felicity did as Lettie ordered, having no desire to have Helga come back in right when it seemed she had established an uneasy alliance with the mysterious young slave. "Where are you from?"

At first Lettie did not answer. She began unlacing the back of the pink gown. Felicity was about to issue an apology for perhaps trying to push for something off-limits, but Lettie said quietly, "Far from here." Instinctively Lettie knew Felicity wanted more detail, for she had been quite an observer of white behavior for _quite _sometime now. She knew of what nature a person was in no time flat.

"Where the grass is tall and yellow, and the animals are more people than the people are. In your tongue the whites call it _Afrikka_."

"I-I have never heard of that place before," said Felicity in a soft whisper. Lettie said nothing, just continued unlacing the pink gown's back-stays, so Felicity asked curiously, "Why are you helping me?"

"I am not helping you."

"But you are." Felicity turned her head a little, her heart sinking just the slightest bit. "Were you _ordered _to tell me Forsythe would be occupied with his barrister for the rest of the day?"

There was a moment of silence, then "No."

"So why tell me at all? Why not just ignore me and let me continue worrying about being whipped until I eventually found out on my own?"

The dark girl was finished with the gown's lacing. She pushed the pink silk material open and stepped back. "You get into your day dress now."

But Felicity didn't move. "Lettie..."

"What do you want to hear, that I feel sorry for you, a _white _woman?"

Dumbfounded, Felicity turned around, her expression more concern-stricken that anything else. "Lettie, I don't know! I was only wanting to know why anyone in this wretched house would be willing to help me when everyone is afraid of that spoiled rat! Does he whip _everyone _who tells him 'no'?"

Lettie's chin lifted, her dark eyes scrutinizing as she contemplated. After yet another awkward moment of silence, she said "No one is whipped; it is unnecessary. There are worse things than whipping."

"Like what?" Felicity shuddered visibly.

The girl studied Felicity's morbidly curious face. "It is not for you to know."

"Lettie," the red-head entreated, coming around the chair quickly, desperation tinging her voice, "is it possible that you can help me escape? _You _are not like the others, either! You do not seem to be worn down by him and this place-Could...could we not escape _together_?"

Immediately Lettie turned away, strode to the tall white wardrobe and hastily withdrew a lavender, lacy dress dress from the wooden rack it was laying over, and promptly brought it to Felicity. "You put this on now." As if she had not heard Felicity's question at all!

"Lettie, talk to me!" Felicity refused to accept the dress. She glanced quickly at the door, hoping no one was about to burst in at this crucial moment. "I know that _you _do not want to be here any more than I do! Is there a way we can escape together? I-I will take you back to Virginia with me!"

Lettie dropped the lavender dress on the foor of the bed and stared at Felicity over her shoulder. "So that I may become _your _slave, too?" The question was full of burning hatred, not aimed at the bewildered red-head, but at the abominable situation of slavery in general.

Felicity couldn't help but feel stabbing painsof guilt. "No! No, of course not! I just wanted to-"

"I do not need your white pity." Lettie crossed to the jib-door, her back turned. "We will speak again soon."

"Lettie, please! I meant no offense!" Felicity's arms dropped helplessly to her sides as panic threatened to overwhelm her. "Don't go! You're the only one here I can talk to!"

Lettie had paused only briefly, but left the room nonetheless, slipping out as quietly as a ghost. Felicity glimpsed Madame Helga sitting out in the hall on an ornate bench with a lap full of drab knitting, which she was putting aside now to close and bolt the jib-door. Helga gave her a 'Just you stay put, Missy' look. Of course, the door was swiftly bolted once shut.

Tears sprang into Felicity's eyes then. For one blissful moment she had thought there was hope. In her mind she scolded herself severely for thinking that there was a way out. So Lettie did not trust white people-there was good reason for that. But the young woman seemed proud, so wary, so...mysterious. Felicity dropped onto the foot of the bed beside the stupid, frilly lavender dress and leaned against one of the wrought iron bedposts to pour over her emotions.

The dark girl _did _say they would speak again soon.

Felicity remembered the satiny pink thing she was wearing was unlaced and open in the back. She quickly shimmied out of it, tossed it aside and got into the so-called day dress as fast as she could. Some day dress! It struck her as being far too fancy to be worn for daytime activities-but then _nothing _about this place or its people was normal, she reminded herself bitterly. _Not even me. Not anymore._

_And _she was married now.

_No! 'Twas an act in a play! A marriage is a union of TWO willing people, not a forceful fop and an unwilling little weed full of powders! _And then a momentarily-forgotten thought oozed back into her mind: _you are supposed to take your own life before that part of Forsythe's 'play' can be consummated. Now, how are you going to go about it?_

_I don't want to! I don't want to die!_

_Well of course you dont, silly goose! But nor do you want to be at Forsythe's mercy. Think about what he just tried to do!_

_But I slapped him! He is physically WEAK! 'Twould seem as if he not only does not know what to do with a woman, but that he is incapable of physical domination...and that is why he had to employ the likes of Mr. Gooch and Madame Helga. He KNOWS I can overpower him physically..._

_...which means he could make arrangements like having me tied down or something horrible like that! Oh God, I cannot allow that to happen!_

_'Twould be best just to continue with the original plan._

* * *

Lettie did return with Felicity's supper, but the stony-faced slave girl could not speak a word for Madame Helga's governing presence. The big woman had, however, noticed that Felicity did not lash out at Lettie, nor verbally put up a fight. Instead of seeing this as something to get suspicious over, Helga percieved it as a blessing, for she was in no mood for the red-head's outlandishness. Downstairs, Forsythe was already in a mood, having received unpleasant news about the state of the 'family business.' The news wasn't all that surprising, but the young lord was taking it as if Doomsday was approaching.

"I see zat you ist civil vith Lettie," observed Helga aloud from the doorway. "Zen she vill be your new personal maid from now on."

"Good!" snapped Felicity where she sat at the little white tripod table with her dinner of fried fish, rice, custard and dinner wine. "She is nice and quiet, and not only does she have a far more pleasant face to look at than any of you, she does not haul me around like a soulless she-bear!"

"Ha! Shtill making vit ze nasty names, eh?" Helga looked more amused than offended. A superior smile pushed her ruddy cheeks up as she crossed her arms over her big chest. "You vill never learn!"

Felicity glared at her. "Especially when I am treated like a prisoner on the verge of execution!"

Lettie's back was to Helga, so that she could pour milk from a porcelean pitcher into Felicity's glass. The dark girl looked at Felicity warningly, as if to say "Do not push her." Under her breath she muttered ever so lowly, "Now is not the right time."

Meeting's Lettie's eyes, Felicity understood right away, breathed deep, and began to shovel in her supper so that her mouth would be too full of food for her to speak should she be tempted to get verbally defiant again. Lettie had to go then, with Helga hovering too close by, and could not even speak with Felicity when she returned for the supper dishes for Helga's standing too near. No one came to help her out of the lavender day dress, which was just fine with Felicity, who didn't mind sleeping in the stupid frilly thing anyway. Somehow, being bound up in a corset gave her the feeling of a little more protection.

As had become the norm for her, sleep was fitful and troubled. She dreamt of her family being ill and Ben being ferociously angry at her. She would emit a restless, sorrowful moan, twist and frown, then lapse back into a temporary deep sleep for a while again. It was during one of those lapses that someone crept into the room.

Reginald Forsythe licked his lips, but he was more nervous than aroused. Dealing with his family's lawyer had kept him occupied for more than the latter half of the day and he had been so frustrated and upset that he had preferred to dine alone that evening so that he could attempt to sort out his thoughts concerning the possibility of his father's slaving business going bankrupt.  
Definitely not the way he had envisioned spending his first day as a married man.

Clad in nightshirt and silver silk sleeping breeches, he hesitated at the foot of the bed,knowing what he wanted to do with the ravishing red-head but not sure of how to go about doing it. As soon as she sensed his presence she she would start fighting him, much as he hated to admit it. He had not been able to see to her punishment today.

However, tomorrow was another day.

She just had to be made to understand that she was a wife now, and had to obey her husband. That was how it was with married men and women. The way it had always been. Somehow, he had to find a way to tame his new wild-child bride! Miss Lucille would have never carried on like this. She would have settled down and accepted her wifely responsibilities.  
Determined to find a way to consummate his marriage, he slowly started for the side of the bed Felicity wasn't sleeping on. Perhaps if he moved slowly so as to not wake her, he could get close enough to her to force her to lie still.

But even as foggy-headed as she was from her evening dose of powders, Felicity was able to become awake the moment she had heard that jib-door bolt unlatch. In the time she had been here, she had managed to train herself to become immediately defensive when she heard it unlatch. She lay there on her left side facing one of the long, tall windows with her eyes shut, feigning sleep, relying on her sense to tell her who had entered.

She had hoped it was Lettie, but it didn't take long to figure out it wasn't. It wasn't Helga, for Helga had heavy footsteps even when she was walking low. Genevieve always had sniffles for some reason or another and could not go two minutes wihtout sniffing at all. So Felicity assumed it was Forsythe himself, creeping in to have another go at marriage consummation. She was outraged and enraged, of course, and instinct told her to jump up and attack him in the manner of a flying squirrel, but the part of her that hated him for all that he had done (being a slaver included) all of a sudden had her thinking of a different reaction instead: she was going to let him get as close as she dared let him.

Oblivious to her consciousness, Forsythe put one sliver silk-clad knee on the bed, paused, waited to see if this slight pressure elicited any response from her. When it did not, he proceeded with his other knee and both hands for crawling on.

Inwardly, Felicity cringed and braced herself.

A smug smile started to spread across Forsythe's face. So far so good. He moved turtle-slow close to Felicity's covered back. A thin hand lifted the heavy white covers from off of her top shoulder, exposing her long red hair in waves, which he could not resist touching. His fingers lifted a silky lock.

_That's it_, Felicity decided, her disgust soaring. _Close enough_! She chose that very moment to inhale deeply, turn her placid face slowly in his direction, and in a sleepy, dreamy voice said, "Ben, is that you? Oh Ben, my love, you have come to save me at last!"

"By God!" Forsythe hollered in rage, recoiling back on his knees, his hands in fists, his face contorted in sheer fury. "You dare to speak his name as my wife?"

"Yes I do!" Felicity hollered back, flicking back the bed sheets and leaping to her feet, revealing herself to still be in the now-rumpled lavender day dress. "Ben Davidson is the only man I would _ever _share a bed with!"

This only served to enrage him more. Through clenched teeth he spat, "You would spread your legs for that damned apprentice and not for your own husband?"

"YES! And you are no husband of mine, you spasm! You will only touch me after I'm dead!"

"Oh you are most wrong, little hellion!" He scrambled across the bed after her, but Felicity flew to the white marble fireplace and grabbed up a porcelain angel figurine in each hand. "You come to me this instant and act like a wife!"

"Never!" she cried, and hurled one of the angel figures at him so fast that it brushed his arm and landed on the bed.

Out in the hall the sound of rapid footsteps got louder as at least two people were coning to the door.

__

CHAPTER FINISHED!


	9. Chapter 9: If At First You Don't Succeed

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, PT3,CH9: If At First You Don't Succeed...

"Dont do that!" Forsythe half-squealed in fright, ducking as another porcelean angel whizzed past past his head, struck a wall behind him and shattered. "Those are expensive pieces of my prized collection!"

"I will stop when _you _stop!"

"You will be lashed severely for this, Felicity!"

"I do not care!" She snatched up two more figurines and prepared to launch them if he swayed one step closer. "You can have me lashed until it kills me, but I do not care because I have nothing left to lose except my virginity, and I'll be thrice-damned before I let you have _that_!"

"You are waking the entire manor and disgracing yourself in the eyes of my household!"

"HA! According to _them_, I was already a disgrace! Why should I care about the opinions of people who care nothing for me?" She sneered spitefully. "I _am _supposed to be _insane_, remember?"

Damn it all, she was right. Forsythe attempted to take a careful step forward, but had to throw up his arms to deflect the Roman angel figurine that would have otherwise cracked his forehead.

"Get out!" she yelled at him, hoping she was loud enough to wake the horses in the barn. "Get out of here and leave me alone!"

Keeping his head covered, Forsythe staggered to the jib-door as yet another priceless figurine smashed into bits against the wall above his balding head. He figured fast that it would probably be for the best if he did remove himself from the room, go back to his own bedchamber and think the situation through. This could not continue. There just _had _to be a way to break that girl!

When he flung the jib-door open, Helga was right there, in her nightcap and dark plaid house coat, candle in hand, peering anxiously into the room. Surprisingly, Lettie was standing out there, too.

"One of you-I do not care which- get in there and calm her down, for God's sake! I will deal with her tomorrow!" Forsythe slipped out, leaving big Helga in the doorway.

"You have denied your husband!" the burly woman exclaimed irately. "Perhaps a veek in Bedlam will shock ze heathen out of you, Missy! Lettie! You deal vith ze little harlot tonight! Ze household ist losing sleep!" Helga moved aside grumpily and gave Lettie an unwarranted hard nudge as the dark girl went in with her candle. As expected, the door was slammed shut.

Felicity's breathing was rapid despite having powders in her system. With dark humor she had believed she had become used to them. But her anger level had soared to an all-time high tonight. She wanted to get out of here, away, to go home. Most of all, she wanted all of this to just end, and so she snapped. Completely ignoring Lettie, who was quickly setting down her candle, Felicity grabbed the silver hand mirror off the vanity and smashed it on the corner of the dresser. Shards of glass indeed littered the floor, some oof them small among larger pieces.

Felicity dropped what was left of the hand mirror nad picked up a good-sized shard of jagged glass. Her emotions were roiling, her desperation rapily seeping through the cracks in her determination to remain rational. She gripped her shard of glass in one hand and studied the underside of ehr other wrist blazingly for the correct place to cut.

She had learned of this way of self-destruction in a tragedy-play once.

"What do you think you are doing?" hissed Lettie suddenly, slapping Felicity's trembling hand so fast and hard that the shard of glass was knocked out of it. "You must not do that!"

"Why not?" Felicity snapped ragefully. "I will not let him consumate this play-act marriage of his, and there is no hope of my _ever _getting out of here! Because of _him _I have lost my best friend, the man I have loved ever since I was a child, my family is unable to locate me, and my father may not even be alive now! So I am asking you, Lettie, _why _must I refrain from ending this wretched situation once and for all?"

Lettie's eyes were wide, but burning with an intense resilience that could only be described as dark fire. "Becuase _then _the suffering of your soul would be eternal! _Then _he will have had complete domination of you!"

"What is _that _supposed to mean?" Felicity's eyes burned with intensity as well. Tears filled them but had yet to fall.

"He will have driven you to your death! He will not have had his way with your body, but he will have driven you _out _of it and into the fiery hell that the white people speak of. If this 'hell' truly exists, do you truly wish to go there?"

Felicity gulped. In a lower tone she asked, "Are you suggesting that I just _give _myself to him, Lettie? Because if you are...I simply cannot...I can't...I was not brought up to just-just-"

Lettie was savagely unblinking. "It does not matter what they do to your body, woman! Your spirit is your own and they cannot touch it!"

Felicity sniffed helplessly. "Yes, well, however true that may be, Lettie, as long as I am still _attached _to this body I am going to feel whatever pain that is inflicted upon it. A woman has very little to call her own in this world, so thank you just the same, but I think I will do whatever I can to keep my virginity my own." She started to pass Lettie in favor of throwing herself down on the bed for a good cry, but the dark girl's hand clamped upon her arm and stilled her immediately.

"I am _not _saying you should allow that man to bed you!" Lettie stated relentlessly. "What I _am _saying is that you must be _smarter _than him!"

Felicity cocked an eyebrow cynically. "And just how am I supposed to do _that_, pray tell?"

Lettie glanced at the jib-door, then drew Felicity close. In her low and deadly serious tone, she said, "By means of delay. Let him believe that you must be courted in order to be won. If he is to have you, he must open your heart through acts of devotion." When Felicity opened her mouth to protest this, Lettie quickly added "This will perhaps buy you time to plan an escape."

This made Felicity's eyes widen. "Does this mean you...you are willing to _help _me?"

Lettie sighed stiffly. "Yes. I will help you."

Felicity closed her eyes in overwhelming relief. "Thank you...so much. And I meant what I said about taking you with me. You _will _come with me, won't you?"

After a moment's tense silent hesitation, the mysterious slave girl nodded slowly, her face showing that trust was still something she was uncertain about. She had every right to be, Felicity understood.

"So what do we do?" Felicity asked worriedly.

"As I have told you; make him believe that you wish to be courted. I will try to find a way for us to sneak out and away. It will not be easy, for he has very strict control over the slaves; we go to the basement when we are not required to be present."

"The _basement_?" Felicity was genuinely appalled. "That is _abominable_!"

Lettie's voice was low and smooth. "He revels in control."

"So I have noticed."

"If you are allowed out to the gardens with me as your companion, can you climb?"

A ray of light that was the old Felicity briefly returned, for she grinned brilliantly. "Can I climb? Why, from the time I was little I made it a goal to climb as many trees and spend as much time up on the roof of my house as possible!"

Lettie nodded approvingly, her stony expression remaining set. "Good. Now you must control your anger and be convincing that you desire courtship. This could spare you the whipping and buy us time to think of alternative means of escape. I cannot help you if are confined to this room."

Felicity nodded her understanding, inhaled as if she were about to leap off a dangerous cliff. "Very well, then. Tell me more about what I must do."

* * *

So it was the following morning that Felicity was sitting at the white tripod table clad in a clean, blush-colored dress, eating her assumedly-powdered-up porridge and ham when Forsythe strode in, attired in a sky-blue and green paisley ensemble, complete with polished walking stick and tightly-rolled wig, freshly (and thickly) powdered. He was stiffly austere, striding right up to Felicity's table with every intention of informing her of her impending punishment today at noon. His mouth came open, but before a sound could come out of it, Felicity gazed up at him placidly and said: "I wish to be courted."

"I-you-_wha_-?" Immediately, Forsythe was taken off guard, as Felicity already assumed he would be. He blinked at her, shocked and shaken, his bewigged head cocking to the side. "Wh-what did you just say?"

Naturally, Felicity cringed inside, loathing the way she was forcing herself to behave, but she swallowed her bile and repeated pleasantly, "I wish for you to court me, Reginald."

Forsythe's mouth dropped open.

"After our little...'disagreement' last night, Helga left me alone with Lettie, who advised me 'twould be in everyone's best interest if I were to change my attitude."

"Le-Le-_Lettie _advised you?" Completely taken aback, Forsythe's head whipped around to look at the slave girl, who was indeed present in the room, picking up pieces of shattered angel figurines to put into her apron. "_This _Lettie?"

"Yes," replied Felicity smoothly. "The things she told me made sense to me, so I have decided to follow her counsel."

"Indeed!" Wildly intrigued by this totally unexpected turn of events, Forsythe snatched up the white chair at the vanity table and plopped himself into it directly across from Felicity at the little table. "And what kinds of 'things' did our Lettie advise you on? As long as I have had her, she has only shown a violent contempt for the whites, and I have never known her to utter a word of her learned English unless it was 'yea' or 'nay.' How come you to elicit such interactions?"

Felicity glanced calmly at Lettie, who nodded briefly from where she was stooped and unseen by Forsythe. "Lettie has become very wise in the way of white society and her role as servant. In essence, she knows the ways of seeing to a well-tended household. She has learnt manners and discipline, and has offered to assist me in accepting the role of a wife now that I am-" She had to swallow down her nausea. "-married."

"Truly!" Forsythe had to twist and look over his shoulder again at the quiet dark girl in astonishment. Turning back to Felicity he exclaimed, "A _slave _giving instruction to her _white _mistress? How very uncommon! But I simply _must _know how this came to be!" He was neither irate nor bothered, but absolutely impressed and mesmirized.

"Unlike your bossy Helga and that snobbish Genevieve, your mild-mannered slave girl spoke politely to me and treated me with respect, so naturaly I was responsive to her." Felicity folded her hands delicately in her lap. She had not like referring to Lettie as 'your mild-mannered slave girl,' but she and Lettie knew those words were empty and planned. 'Twas like having rehearsed lines for a play.

"And just what did our good slave girl have to suggest about _me_?" he wanted to know.

"That I should be civil and calm to begin with, and that there ought to be-" _Lord give me strength AND stomach! _"-romance between us. If you will stop to think about it, Reginald, you have not courted me at all. Not one bit."

"Oh my dear, dear angel," Forsythe chuckled mindfully. "We are already married!"

_This is not going to be easy. _Though she was absolutely raging on the inside, she merely sighed and gave him a wearied look. "Legally, I suppose so. But a lady wants to know that her husband is capable of loving her. I have yet to see that you are. I am thinking that I can make myself more..._available _to you if you can convince me that you love me. Can you?"

Forsythe rested both of his hands upon the polished greyhound-head of the walking stick and eyed her with suspicious amusement. "The act of physical intimacy _is _proof of love,Felicity. We _are _married, and though you should instantly take to the position of wife without question, I suppose there _is _some logic in what you are saying."

"Did you not love Miss Elswick?"

Yet again he was stunned. Behind Forsythe, Lettie paused in her purposefully slow gathering of porcelean angel pieces to await the white lord's response.

Forsythe's astonishment quickly turned to all seriousness. "My dear girl, I loved that young woman more than life itself. I was determined that she should become my wife just as soon as I came of age. Had she not-not-_perished_..."

"Did Miss Elswick not know of the intensity of your affections, even as young as you were?" Felicity's gaze, too, was suspicious.

Forsythe sniffed haughtily. "Of course she did! I told her that I loved her and that she must never ever leave me or I would suffer the most wretched of devastations..."

"So if you loved her and expressed it so, can you not do the same with _me_? You say I am exactly like Miss Elswick in my appearance and spirit, but yet you have treated me abominably. I assume that if she had lived you would have courted _her_, correct?"

"Ye-yes, that is correct," he stammered, again taken off guard by this line of unforseen questioning. He blinked at her, somewhat startled.

"So can you not court _me_, Reginald? Can you not show _me _that you possess romantic capabilities? 'Twould work out to everyone's advantages, you know, as Lettie has pointed out to me. Show me how we would have courted had my father allowed it, and I will willingly _and _happily take my place at your side. I will neither run from you nor rebel if you can show me respect and compassion."

Forsythe's mouth had come open, his face bearing a look most like that of a child who's favorite candy in the world was being dangled in front of it. He stared at her wonderously, obviously in the process of absorbing her request, her line of reasoning. Though Felicity gazed back at him, she could see Lettie nod urgently, which was the cue to keep going, so she said "And as long as I have Lettie to guide me, I can be as willing to adapt to your way of life as you wish."

Oh, it was agony to say such a thing, when the latter part of that statement went against everything she felt and believed in! But her mind exerted control, she clenched her teeth inside her mouth, and held her peace. This was for show. An act. _A role in a play, _she reminded herself firmly.

Like his so-called 'marriage.'

When he had yet to respond, Felicity cocked _her _head and inquired calmly, "Well, Reginald? Will you court me or shall I go back to being impossible? Am I not worth winning?"

He inhaled quickly, as if he had just been snapped out of some awe-induced reverie. "A-And if I prove my love to you, you will be willing to be my wife in every way?"

"Yes."

"In _every _way?"

She curled the fingernails of one hand into its palm to maintain control. "Yes."

"Well, then!" Forsythe cried out so giddily that both Felicity and Lettie fliched in surprise. "I say a feast is in order!" He was up out of his seat, all but leaping to Felicity's side as she stiffened in preparation for self defense. But he was down on one knee, clasping one of her rigid hands in both of his clammy ones. "Indeed, we had no opportunity to court properly, my angel! Your father's stubborness and the meddlesome apprentice prevented it! But now that I have you here for my very own, I certainly can indulge such requests- and you truly, truly desire a closeness beginning with courtship, my little angel?"

"I truly, truly do," lied Felicity pleasantly.

"Oh you do not know how it gladdens my heart to hear you say so, dearest angel!" He rained a plethora of damp kisses upon the back of Felicity's hand he was holding, which resulted in her lips quivering nauseously, uncontollably as her disgust threatened to errupt. Lettie's dark eyes widened fiercely, a clear signal for Felicity to keep control. The sickened red-head smiled forcefully not a moment too soon, for Forsythe's overly-powdered bewigged head came back up, revealing his yellow-tinted teeth in a broad grin.

"And will you allow Lettie to assist me?" Felicity asked, doing her best to keep her composure.

Forsythe looked over at the suspicious expressioned slave girl, then back to Felicity. "If that girl can enable you to take your place as my devoted wife, then I insist upon giving her to you! Lettie is yours henceforth!"

Felicity smiled thinly.

"I shall arrange a grand dinner this afternoon in clebration of our marital courtship! Do wear the silver and maroon gown for me, my dear. Wear your hair up, no loose strands. Lettie, you will see to this. To think that I came in here with every intention to have you punished! How fortunate it was my previously sulking slave girl was left with you!"

_Fortunate, indeed, _agreed Felicity mentally. _But not in the way that _you _think!_

"Well now! Let us mark our new beginning with a kiss, shall we?" Forsythe rose eagerly and leaned toward Felicity, who on instinct pressed herself hard against the back of her chair, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Lettie repeatedly flicking the back of a hand at her. The gesture to "just do it!"

Forsythe's thin puckered lips came at her. Felicity had to exert more will-power than she had ever had to thus far in this whole revolting situation, and puckered back, looking for all the world like she had just bit into the sourest of lemons, complete with eyes squeezed shut. But Forsythe, not having had any experience with women, kissed her dry lips with his wet ones with a loud smack.

As he drew back happily, Felicity's eyelids fluttered, but 'twas not from near-swooning, as Forsythe thought it to be. She was trying not to vomit. "Now!" exclaimed he, enthused, "I shall make our dinner arrangements!" He turned to Lettie. "Since you have finally proven yourself to be of some value here, you are to be Lady Forsythe's maid starting this moment. See to it she is dressed accordingly to attend dinner."

_Lady _Forsythe? Felicity's gut felt twisted into dreadful knots.

He bowed low, tempting Felicity to punt his head as she would have a pig's bladder ball, but an ankle twitch was the only indication she wanted to revolt. After all, that would not do if she and Lettie were to be allowed out of the room together. She curtsied properly, against her own will when he straightened.

"You have finally made progress, Felicity," Forsythe told her with prideful approval. "And you will be rewarded for it. I shall see you at supper." With that, he spun on his unnaturally high heel and exited the room, beaming.

Immediately Felicity began a violent succession of disgusted spits. "Puh! Puh! Puh puh puh!" She roughly swiped her mouth with the back of one arm, then the back of the other, wishing madly that she had some of her grandfather's peppermint mouth-rinse. Lettie quietly came over and waited with almost eerie patience for Felicity to cease the spasmodic spitting. Felicity turned round to the dresser and splashed cold water from the white porcelain basin into her face and mouth, then hastily grabbed the drying linen beside the basin to bury her face into it.

"You are a strange white woman," commented Lettie, her face stoic even though her words were not.

"Ick! Ugh! He has a mouth like a fish! He makes me want to purge every single bite of food I have taken in my life!"

"Is it not a small price to pay for your freedom?"

Felicity lowered the hand towel and stared at Lettie, relenting to the dark girl's sensibility. "I-I suppose not. But I do not have to like it."

"Of course not. But you must convince _him _that you do." Lettie stared back at her passively. "It could always be something worse."

Felicity was stricken with curiosity as to what those last words implied, but she did not get a chance to pursue them, for Lettie was already beginning to discuss what was to be mentioned and discussed at dinner that evening.

Lettie helped her into the tight-fitting, low-cut gown, which was of the open-robe style, silky maroon over silver, with trimmings of dark grey lace and embroidered leaves on the stomacher and petticoat. It might have been a lovely dinner gown in felicity's eyes had she not come to hate the color of maroon and firmly set in her mind that there was absolutely nothing of beauty to be found here. She was escorted down to the the long rectangular dining hall, which featured little more than a magnificently huge black stone fireplace in which a fire was going and the long dark rectangular table itself.

The table looked like it could seat fifteen on either side. Three silver candelabras sat at well-balanced positions upon the table. The end nearest the fireplace was where Reginald Forsythe sat. The only other place set for dinner was at the corner on his left. It would just be the two of them at the table, much to Felicity's disappointment, even though a tall, skinny, elderly black man dressed in the fine but drab colored butlers' uniforms of the manor stood against the wall nearby, gloved hands folded in front of him, awaiting the instruction. He answered to the name of Pompey.

The sight of Pompey having to just stand there, waiting to be summoned for any reason great or small gave Felicity such deep pangs of guilt that she tried to hurry through the meal just so the poor man would not have to stand there so long without moving.

But Forsythe, however, wanted to talk, even after the dessert of a rich rice pudding. Unfortunately, Felicity had to indulge him, listen to him prattle on about his collections of angellic paraphrenelia he wished to show to her upstairs. As he went on, her gaze could not help but wander over the room's dark panelling with a brass, mirrored sconce in the middle of each panel. She could not help but to have noticed the large painting of a man who looked like a fifty year-old version of Reginald Forsythe hung above the wide mantel of the big black fireplace. The man had black hair pulled back in a queue, grey temples, and beady hazel eyes like Reginald. That, Felicity thought sourly, must be the fop's father. The portrait unnerved her. It seemed like the eyes followed her moves since she entered the room.

"That is my late father, the Lord Maxim Alastair Forsythe," Reginald explained, having seen Felicity's uneasy glancing at the painting. "He was a very proud man. Shrewd in business. I was seventeen in the year that he passed away from his ailment."

"What ailed him?" Felicity asked blandly, actually curious about what other sordid details about the Forsythe family she could learn.

Reginald actually seemed uncomfortable with the subject of his late father. 'Twas he who had opened up the topic, but he had not expected to go into any details about anything. "Mama and I were told his drinking had affected his liver, among various other inside afflictions he had. He _did _prefer the company of his drink to that of any living person."

There was definately bitterness in his tone, Felicity noted. She had been listening while she poked at her peas with a silver fork, reluctant to eat them, for she was sure there were powders in their butter sauce, and she did not want to ingest any more of the vile drug than she had to. Lettie ahd sdvised her not to eat everything she was given; meats and dry breads were safest, for the powders required a certain amount of liquid in which to dissolve.

"Why did he enjoy gambling so much?" she asked, hoping to squeeze an answer out of him.

"My father loved money," Reginald muttered unapprovingly. "He loved spending it. Making bets he lost one too many times. He once made a wager upon a horse in a race and lost his finest ship..."

Ah ha! "A _slaving _ship," Felicity added, unable to resist. She _wanted _him to know she knew what the Forsythe empire was built upon.

Forsythe looked at her uneasily, but his voice remained flat. "Yes, so it was. Look, Felicity, I did not choose my family's occupation. I was born into it and inherited it-"

"But that does not mean you have to continue it," she interjected pointedly, with a hint of her underlying rages slipping out in her accusatory tone.

" 'Tis rude to interrupt, Felicity. Very unbecoming in a gentlewoman. But perhaps I needn't continue my father's business. Nonetheless, management is my life. _You _needn't worry your pretty little head about it either way, for a woman does not have a mind for business. Your world is your home." He paused, watching her frown deepen moodily. "Correct me if I am wrong, but your family maintains the keeping of slaves, do they not?"

Felicity's face felt hot with humility, but she swallowed it down with fierce determination. "Yes they do, and I deeply regret it! And if I _ever _get to see my family again, I shall demand that they free Marcus and Rose at once!"

Forsythe chuckled slyly. "Still clinging to your old passions, I see."

Felicity sighed, clenched her fist beneath the table and got a hold of herself firmly. _He is testing me. I cannot afford to lose control again! I'll never be allowed outside and I will have disappointed Lettie. _"I do appologize, Reginald," she said, her voice softening despite the ferocious urge to knock his yellowed teeth down his throat. "I meant what I said about becoming a refined wife. 'Tis hard to forget where I come from." _That ought to help! He loves to criticize the colonies, so let him chew upon that!_

"All is forgiven, my dear," Forsythe told her easily enough, resuming the heaping of food onto his fork. "Old habits are hard to break, are they not? Besides, this is our first official dinner as husband and wife! Let us speak of only pleasant things."

Felicity felt frustrated and moody again, but this time she was careful not to show it. If she had to endure sitting at an uncomfortably long dining table in a gloomy dining hall, then she wanted to hear more about the Forsythe business going bankrupt. So far it seemed well enough to assume their slaving business was dying because of the late Lord Maxim's gambling debts. Adding to that was the son's excessive spending on transporting her here, buying ridicualous dresses in London, redecorating a room she loathed to be in, and donating repair money to desperate clergymen so that he could marry her in secret. It seemed to Felicity that the son was gambling on _her_, and she was deternined that he should lose.

And so the following two weeks saw Reginald Forsythe spend even more on her in his attempt to court her and win her affections, which had by now turned to solid ice. With Lettie's help, she was able to endure the hell of having to sit two hours a day perfectly still so that the painter from London Reginald hired could paint her portrait, which was to be hung in the main hall beside his own. Each evening saw him appeal to her if this was "the night," which she put him off of by saying "Nay it is not! For I have yet to finish the gown I will wear for you!" Disappointed but relenting, he was held at bay by her allowing him to kiss her. When he was gone, she either gagged or rinsed her mouth out.

With soap.

Forsythe would only be kept waiting for so long. And little did Felicity know that things were about to go from bad to worse.

* * *

**Author babble**: Been to Stolen Breeches yet? I'm going to continue to yak about it until it gets MANY joiners. It is, afer all, a wonderful place to gab with your fellow Benicity shippers. In other Felicity-related news, if you do not know already, The Official Shailene Woodley fansite is undergoing a BIG re-do, or a revamp, as the website's alert says. It will be fabulous to see what all Veronica and friends will have done to the best Shailene website on the 'net! Seems like there was something else I was going to say, but damned if I have already forgotten what it was. Crap. Oh well, maybe next time!


	10. Chapter 10: The Family Forsythe

Felicity: An American Girl Romance PT3, Ch10: The Family Forsythe

**Author's Warning**: Look, people, I might as well tell you now that things will get worse before they get better for Felicity. That is the way of dramatic stories. I'm getting further and further into sensitive details, so if you find that you are too uncomforable, stop reading it. Just quit. If you choose to continue, then on your own head be it. I began writing this story to suit only myself, and I am THRILLED to have picked up some readers along the way. Thank you, all of you who have been with me thus far and are still willing to continue. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you. But I want to make it perfectly clear that I did not set out to write a grown-up Felicity and Ben story for the sake of being explicit or offending a bunch of people. I also want it known that even _I _have limits as to how far I'll go in writing this tale of their grown-up experiences. I'm not going to have Felicity scarred for life or anything depressing like that, okay? One of the goals of American Girl is to help girls feel empowered and independent. I'm not going to take that away just because I'm writing a grown-up story. This is, on all accounts, an _adult _story with _adult _situations, and if you are uncomfortable with that, then please, don't read anymore.

But if you are okay with an adult story, then by all means, keep reading!

* * *

Of course Felicity and Lettie were aware that Forsythe could not be put off forever, but they had yet to be allowed out on the grounds together. Felicity was finally allowed out of her room to roam the manor and become acquainted with, as Reginald put it, 'her woman's domain,' but this did not cheer her in the slightest. The manor's halls were bleak and shadowy, with aging portraits of unnamed faces looking grim and stony hung in every room. It made Felicity cringe loathfully inside herself to know that her own melancholy-faced portrait was to be added to the manor's morbid collection.

_Who would have ever thought that my life would come to this? _she had bitterly thought the many times she was forced to sit still in a super straight-backed position as the painter from London did his work. _'Tis as if I have become a member of the un-dead minions of lore, alive but dead. I am so far away from myself that I do not know who I am any more..._

She did not get to feel sorry for herself for long when Lettie was with her. She was made to understand that she could never fathom all that the dark girl had to endure. Felicity learned through time spent alone with Lettie at night that the girl had only been twelve when she was brought here to England, stolen away from her peoples' village, where she had been maid to the village chief's daughter; a position highly coveted among the young girls and a position Lettie was fiercely proud of, for the chief's daughter regarded her as a sister and treated her as such. Her father had been the chief's most valued warrior, and Lettie herself had been betrothed to a handsome young warrior whom she had held tremendous affection for, even at such an age.

Felicity had been able to relate to that.

But then the white men came with muskets and chains, burned the village, killed those who fought back, and captured the women and children. Lettie never saw her family again. She was put aboard a ship in chains with many others of her race, taken to an island after countless days in the ships' crammed, deplorably-conditioned hold, then sold to the Forsythes, who in turn sold many but kept her along with a few others, and renamed her 'Letitia.' That soon changed to 'Lettie,' for the white people here seemed to be too lazy to even want to pronounce the name they forced upon her in full.

When Felicity inquired as to what her _real _name was, Lettie immediately turned fiery and defensive and said, "My name will never be uttered by the white tongue! They have taken my life from me. I will not allow them to speak the name of my soul!" This moved Felicity to tears, which, after fifteen minutes of wretched sobbing, prompted Lettie to push Felicity's shoulder (as the only gesture of comfort Lettie was comfortable with) and say, "But they will not have my soul. Nor will they yours."

Comforting a peculiar young white woman was something the slave-hardened girl had never had to do before. Lettie was doubly stunned when the emotional red-head flung her white arms around her dark neck and said "I owe you my life."

Apparently, neither one of them was accustomed to having a friend here.

Felicity had got to stroll the grounds of the place in the second week, but only arm-in-despicable arm with Reginald Forsythe himself, distracting _her_self from his ceaseless bragging on his imported plants and garden statues from Rome by looking about for a stone big enough to conk him with. As much as she wanted to strangle him with a length of thorny vine, she could not espy one of those, either.

She was taken to the Forsythe stables and shown his collection of pureblood horses, for he had recalled that she had an affection for horses in what he called her 'Williamsburg days.' Of course she immediately thought of Penny and Patriot, and tears threatened to burst from within, but she determinedly curled her fingernails into their already red-marked cuts in her palm and hated him all the more. He bribed her with one of his mares, a fine silvery colored creature he claimed came from the desert lands of the East, if she were to come to his bed that very evening.

"Are you not afraid I shall ride off with her?" Felicity teased through her veil of pretend flirtations.

"Oh goodness no," chuckled the weasel, patting her arm with too much familiarity. "Why, wherever would you go?"

_That does not matter. Away from here is all that does, _she replied mentally whilst twittering the most obnoxious laugh she could summon.

Of course her reply to the bribe was "Not yet, for I am almost finished with the gown I will wear for you," which led the disappointed and frustrated Forsythe to hope that this 'gown' (which did not exist in reality) was worth the wait. So he appealed to Lettie.

"Can you not use your influence to convince her that we should be consumating our marriage vows by now?" he inquired of the slave girl one evening after dinner.

"She must not be rushed," advised Lettie in her cool and mysterious voice. "Do you not know that when you remove a wild spirit against its will from a savage land it requires time to tame it? Do you not wish for her to be as you envisioned?"

"Well yes, but-"

"And you had already expected to have her whipped, no?"

"Well yes, but-"

Lettie's dark eyes held his small hazel ones with alarming calm and smooth iciness. "If you want her to be willing and submitting to you, then you must gain her trust, as she requires _yours_. There is no fast remedy for trust. If you give her time now, you will have the rest of your life with her later. Do you see?"

Forsythe had sighed. "Very well. You will, I assume, continue to council her...on my behalf as well as hers?"

"Yes," said Lettie smoothly. "And in the end, all will be as it should."

Unaware of the true prophecy behind her words, Reginald reluctantly gave in yet again, seeing as how it was Lettie who 'encouraged' his willful bride to come around to begin with.

Head servants such as Esmerelda and Genevieve showed obvious dislike for having to call Felicity 'Lady Forsythe' despite Felicity not likeing it any more than they did herself. The two maids had to treat her respectably, but they did not have to like it, and Felicity found this to go both ways as well. The other young black maids were wary of this new white mistress, but Felicity went out of her way to acknowledge them over Esmerelda and Genevieve, give them kind words and civil attention whenever she could. By the middle of the second week, she had made an unexpected ally out of the aging Pompey, who agreed to assist her and Lettie any way he could when 'the time came.'

Needless to say, the slaves of Forsythe Manor could accept Felicity a great deal more than they could the other whites they had to deal with, but of them all, Lettie seemed the only one to possess any spirit and bravery.

Close to the end of the second week, Felicity was eating with Forsythe in the big depressing dining room when she finally felt it safe to ask, " May I inquire something of you, Reginald?"

He looked up from his ornate china plate of mashed potatoes, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. He wiped his fingers along the dinner napkin stuffed ridiculously into his chin-high cravat as he studied her curiously, then replied with interest, "And whatever might that be, my dear angel?"

Everytime he called her that her stomach clenched in disgust. But she merely smiled and fluttered her eyelashes. "I was wondering if, mayhaps, Lettie could assist me in planting a bush of roses in the garden?"

This was certainly a request he had not been prepared for! He _had _been expecting her to ask any time now if she could write a letter to her parents, which he would have immediately said _no _to, due to not feeling that it was 'safe' enough, that she would have to be writing to inform her parents of the news that she was with child before he could allow her to write anything at all. But this, the planting of a rose bush? Clearly, he was amazed.

"A-A _rose _bush?" inquired he, to be sure he had heard her correctly.

"Yes," confirmed Felicity, unable to keep from squirming in her seat with anticipation of the answer. "Surely you must remember that when I-" Lord, how much more of this was she going to have to take? "-lived in Williamsburg *ahem* I was most fond of the flowers in my garden. I grew roses, pansies, daffodills and more, and I tended to them most ardently." She was trying so hard to keep the nervousness from her voice. He did not seem to respond well to nervousness.

"Why, Felicity, does my garden not agree with you? Is it not fine?"

_If he considers dark plants and grey statues of women who look either sad or sick to be 'fine,' then he has the 'finest' garden in all of Creation! _But she forced a shy smile and said, "Of course it is a very fine garden indeed, my lord. I was only hoping to contribute to it. Lettie says that very fine ladies keep magnificent bushes of roses here in England."

"Did she?" His eyebrows went up even further. Felicity wondered if they would continue on up his high forehead and slip under his wig's hairline. "I did not know Lettie possessed any knowledge of a garden whatsoever!"

Felicity tensed.

"One would never suspect it with that foul mood she usually carries. Ah well. 'Contribute,' did you say?"

"Yes. Seeing as how I am your wife now, I also thought 'twould be a lovely symbol of my contribution to our marriage." She badly wanted to gag over her own choice of words. "A rose to bloom just as a new marriage should."

"Ah, but Felicity, our marriage has yet to bloom in the appropriate way!" he told her slyly. "You have yet to contribute in the most important manner."

Felicity's inner frustrations were rising right along with her blood pressure. At length she said, "I am trying, Reginald. 'Tis not easy for me, can you not see? I need to feel loved by and safe with _you _before I can-can contribute...in that way."

Reginald reached over and squeezed her hand with an amorous look in his beady hazel eyes. She had to fight her own instinct not to yank her hand away in repulsion, nor grit her teeth openly when he said, "I will keep you perfectly safe within the confines of my very own arms, my angel."

Again she sighed, more agitated than anything else. She swallowed and tried again. "Please, Reginald, allow me this. Lettie truly is familiar with growing things and she will show me how to plant our roses." She forced her bile back down. "Yours and mine."

Ultimately, Forsythe shrugged, sighed lightly, whipped the napkin out of his cravat and dabbed his mouth with it. "It seems to be a simple request. Very well, Felicity. You may have your rose bushes. But I insist on choosing the color."

_Wonderful_, agreed Felicity impatiently. _You may pick your color, pick everyone's wardrobe, you can even pick your nose for all I care! All that matters is that Lettie and I get outside together! _"And what color do you desire, my lord?"

It obviously pleased him when she called him by his title. His mouth produced a small thoughtful crinkle. "I believe I shall like red. Yes, red- a dark, passionate red of some sort."

_Figures_, thought Felicity warily.

"Does red agree with _you_, my dear?"

"Of course. Red is lovely."

Forsythe nodded, very much pleased with this notion the more he mulled it over. "Excellent. Then I shall have my gardener purchase the finest seeds one can obtain when he goes into the city tomorrow to sell some of his goods."

Felicity smiled hopefully.

"But you cannot plant them just yet, my dear."

Her smile faded fast.

Forsythe chuckled. "Quite eager, are we? I'm afraid you will have to wait until the beginning of next week, for this weekend we are having guests!"

"Oh?"

"Indeed! I have invited the relatives to come and spend a few days with us in celebrating our union. The manor must be made ready for them in the next couple of days. Everyone shall get to meet you, and we will have music and festivities. My Aunt Dorcas is especially eager to meet you, so you must be on your very best behavior. She is quite fond of the theatre, so do not be surprised if we all attend a play at the Theatre Royal on King Street! 'Tis a lovely place, the Theatre Royal- I have been there many times myself. Did you know that it is closely modelled in likeness to the Drury Lane Theatre in London...?"

As he babbled on, Felicity's heart sank some, knowing she would have to wait yet some more for her and Lettie's chance to get outside. Never had her patience been so tested! And have to endure a house full of Forsythes? The very thought made her antsy. But then, a house full of people was bound to create plenty of distraction...

Wouldn't it?

That night, Felicity told Lettie about the relatives coming this weekend, and Lettie grew very silent- even more so than her usual quiet. She and Felicity sat in chairs before the fire in Felicity's room, making alterations to a plain cotton shift so that there would be some kind of 'proof' to show Forsythe sooner or later. As Felicity glanced sidelong at the very still dark girl, she had to wonder what it was about this news of the coming relatives that had Lettie as still as stone. Whatever it was, it was obviously not good.

Finally Lettie asked, "Did he say whop these 'relatives' are?"

Felicity looked deeply thoughtful and lowered the hem on the end of the gown she was working on. "At first I did not pay attention to his babbling because i was so disappointed at our dely in getting to go out to the garden together...but I seem to recall him mentioning aunts and uncles from his father's side...certainly did not mention his Aunt Lady templeton from virginia! Why, no! Couldn't have her come here, she knows me and she would have never allowed him to do the things he has done to me and my family had she known-"

"Did he give mention of any of his cousins?" Lettie interrupted impatiently, as if Felicity's answer was of the greatest importance.

"W-Well, yes, as a matter of fact, he did! He is expecting three of his lady cousins-"

'Did he say anything about his _male _cousins?" Lettie interjected again hastily.

Now Felicity was worried. Looking at Lettie, she saw the flames of the fire reflected in the girl's black eyes and it gave her a shudder to see the intensity in them. Slowly, hesitantly, she replied, "Only that there were a few of his bachelor cousins that would not be able to attend because of their prior engagements..." Felicity watched Lettie turn her dark, unreadable face toward the fire in eerie contemplation.

After a minute, Felicity asked cautiously, "Is there something wrong, Lettie? I mean, is there something about these relatives that I should know about?"

Lettie turned back to her, expression having gone blank again, voice back to being flat and unaffected. "There is nothing about them you need to know. Depending on who arrives."

Was that a hint? Felicity wondered. "Like who?"

"If there is need for you to be concerned, I will tell you."

"But I'm already concerned. Can you not tell me _now_?"

"You ask many questions for a white woman."

Felicity sighed gruffly. " 'Tis the best way to find things out!" Lettie had quickly gone back to sewing lace on the gown, but Felicity was not ready to let the subject drop. Something had struck a nerve in the mysterious slave girl and now Felicity wanted desperately to know what it was. "Will you not tell me anything at all?"

"Work on your end," Lettie instructed passively. "We must have this done so that we can have something to show him how time was spent."

In the next few days, Forsythe Manor was bustling with nervous activity. Maids, slaves, butlers and cooks were busy with Reginald's orders while Felicity stood back at first and watched, amused with how he no sooner gave an order than Smedley came along and gave another. If it was to Esmerelda or Genevieve, Felicity smirked. If multiple commands were given to the already overwhelmed slaves, she secretly assisted them. Fortunately, the lord of the manor was too busy to notice her helping his slaves clean, polish or sweep, but _un_fortunately, footmen were posted at all entrances and exits, so she and Lettie would not be able to slip out amidst all the pre-arrival fuss.

Lettie seemed to be just as on edge as Forsythe. Whenever she and felicity were near enough to overhear a conversation about the relatives, the slave girl immediately halted all movement and stared, obviously straining to hear every little word. It reminded Felicity of Penny, in the beginning, when the beautiful copper mare was suspicious and wary of everyone and everything. But still Lettie did not give the anxious red-head an explanation, so Felicity listened in along with her, trying to pick up on an idea of what had Lettie so antsy.

When Felicity asked one of the other slave maids why Lettie was so apprehensive about certain forsythe relatives, the young black girl who's English was clear replied in the lowest, most worried of voices, "We do not speak of it, Ma'am. It is not for you to know."

Which frustrated Felicity all the more. Apparently there _was _something about Reginald's relatives that the household slaves were _quite _uncomfortable with, and she was determined to find out what it was. Questioning Reginald would be no use since he would just change the subject or dismiss her concerns all together. She would just have to rely on her powder-muddled senses as much as she could to uncover what secret was lurking here.

Felicity did remind herself mentally that she didn't have to make this mystery her business. She didn't have to care one way or the other. When she first arrived she would have been determined not to care! But being miserable, lonely, and cooped up in a dreary cage-of-a-manor was something that drove her to reach out, to care about those who were suffering, too. Lettie was a good influence in helping her control her emotions, for Felicity (being a learned observant of people) could see quite plainly that the mysterious slave girl was quite a master in keeping emotions locked away.

'They' began arriving on a Saturday morning, just before noon, on a cold, windy January day: a carriage bearing Reginald's fifty-something Aunt Sophie Forsythe-Midgewater, her husband Lester and three obnoxiously snickering, bony, long-nosed pre-teen daughters who wore varying shades of green. Carriage Number Two bore the older, greying Aunt Lila Forsythe-Fimple, who's face seemed to be set in a permanent expression of disapproval, and her stiff-backed husband Hubert, who was a skinny chap with a hanging gut. And last, there was carriage Number Three which bore Uncle Fletcher Forsythe; a well-built, stony-faced man wearing a short peruke wig. Accompanying him was his sister Dorcas Forsythe-Ambrose along with a thirty-something-looking woman Felicity assumed was Dorcas's daughter.

From Felicity's room, she and Lettie watched them emerge from their carriages with a bevy of footmen to unload their parcels, lend hands and hold reins. Felicity did not let her curiosity show when it seemed that Lettie released a heavy sigh of relief. She gazed down at the arrivals and commented, "They all look so...snobbish. I do not see how they could be close to each other at all. What are they like, Lettie? How long do you think they will stay?"

"They are like _him_," Lettie murmured in her serious tone. "But they will not take to you- this they have already decided, because you are not like them. See the hesitation on their white faces? It is clear to assume that they do not really want to be here, but they were _willing _to come here, to be seen and to pass judgement, to ultimately return from where they came to speak of this visit to the white friends that are just like them. They will stay only long enough to eat plenty and express disapproval even more."

Felicity understood immediately. "That is what is called 'gossiping.' The Lord does not approve of it, but people do it anyway, whether they are aware of it or not. I myself can be held accountable for it at times."

"But you are a different white than they are."

Felicity glanced at her and smiled a little. Looking back out of the tall window, down at the coated, cloaked, wig-wearing arrivals, she asked, "All right, Lettie. Prepare me."

Lettie nodded approvingly. "Understand that you cannot appeal to any of them for help. They will not approve of you- to them you are an unworthy possession belonging to a relative they do not hold in high regard to begin with, because of his strangeness. They will not desire a scandle in assisting the runaway wife of a family member they know is unstable in his mind."

Felicity nodded.

"The family's slave-business is in jeopardy already as well. They will not desire more attention put upon them than what already is. Do you see this? They do not even have much regard for their own."

Felicity already had that feeling. "I wondered if they would be a different sort of people than he, but I do not expect help from any of them. Just looking at them gives me cold shivers."

"You and I will be fine without _them_," Lettie told her, unmistakable defiance and hatred in her mysterious accent as she too looked down upon the Forsythes. "This place will be full of whites disliking one of the other, so much that we will not need _seeds _to provide us a way out into the garden."

Felicity wanted to shriek with joy.

* * *

CHAPTER FINISHED!


	11. Chapter 11: Tristan

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE PT3, Ch.11: Tristan

Every finger in the room is pointing at me  
I wanna spit in their faces  
Then I get afraid of what that would bring  
I got a bowling ball in my stomach  
I got a desert in my mouth  
Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now  
I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets  
Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets  
I've been raising up my hands, drive another nail in  
Just what God needs, one more victim  
Why do we crucify ourselves  
Everyday, I crucify myself  
Nothing I do is good enough for you  
Crucify myself, every day  
And my heart is sick of being in chains  
-lines from 'Crucify' by Tori Amos

* * *

Yet again she had to slam down her impatience and disguise herself behind a mask of emotionless indifference so that she could get through the afternoon; a feat she did not have to work at much since she was very aware she had been given the powders in her breakfast, apparently. The familiar drowsiness and slight headache told her Reginald did not trust her enough to cease administering them. Her movements and reactions were still slowed and and delayed, but yet...she had grown accustomed to it in her own strange way.

Around noon, she was presented to these relatives on the arm of Reginald himself. He had personally chosen the gown she was wearing: a full sack-style dress of deep auburn brocade with black lace trimmings that made her feel as of she were attending a fancy funeral, and that is precisely what she repeated to herself mentally in preparation as Forsythe escorted her down the grand staircase and into the manor's largest parlor, where his kin had gathered. All those who were sitting stood slowly.

Though a chill eddied through her, Felicity held herself as stiffly and formally as possible. Dozens of eyes locked onto her; scrutinizing, judging, comparing her to God only knew who or what, Felicity assumed. No one smiled, therefore she did not smile. When the women curtsied and the men bowed reluctantly, she too curtsied just as rigidly.

"May I present to you all my beautiful bride," Reginald beamed, sounding as if he had just won a magnificent wager. "Lady Felicity Forsythe!"

The title made felicity want to gag openly. Had her level of nausea gone up another inch, she would have done so without attempting to control it. Still no one broke a smile or came forward to greet her, but she was not the least bit offended: she had been prepared for such a cold reception. She held each gaze undauntingly, her green eyes going from face to face in formal, reserved acknowledgment, reflecting the unspoken criticism found in each face with her own.

As Reginald introduced her to each person, so blithely absorbed in showing her off like some sort of hunting trophy that he seemed not to notice everyone's coolness, Felicity merely reflected back whatever insensitivity and remoteness she was shown. The Forsythe blood-relations varied in appearance for the most, but all of them had small eyes. In essence, she could tell who was related by blood and who was family by marriage. No one seemed to be the least bit friendly or even attempted to fake civility. Therefore, Felicity resolved to be the same way. 'Twas very clear that to survive being in a room full of Forsythes, one had to act as one of them.

After the introductions, Reginald summoned Esmerelda for refreshments, and the men lapsed into terse conversations about highwaymen, unfair tolls, the latest diversions to be found in the town of nearby Bath, and the state of the roads. Reginald kept Felicity on his arm as he engaged his Uncle Lester in a lively discussion concerning having to replace an ungodly number of shoe heels after they had been sucked down into the mud during rainy-season. The wives and nieces had clustered beside the room's grand spinet, but they were not so far away from where Felicity was standing with Reginald that she could not hear snippets of their conversations:

"Just like a skinny broom stick, isn't she?"

"And that red hair! *sigh!* All of his poor children will be red-headed, too, the Lord help them."

"She greatly favors that governess of his that died when he was a boy; the one he'd taken quite a fancy to."

"Well that explains it, then."

"So he married her for-Hrumph!-_obvious _reasons. I assume she married him for his wealth!"

"Do you think she is _already _expecting?"

"Doesn't appear to be. But then _her _kind probably know the ways of aborting."

Felicity's teeth clenched in raw fury. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to whirl around to the coven of witches and slap the snot out of them. It would be so easy since the main three women, Lila, Sophie, and the daughter of Aunt Dorcas, Jane Ambrose, were standing side-by-side-by-side. Felicity felt that she could strike all three with one fast sweep of her hand.

"But he hardly has any money left!" oneof the biddies said in a giddy near-whisper. "D'ye suppose _she _knows that?"

"Apparently not," assumed another biddie.

_Guess again, witch, _Felicity thought viciously.

"_Tristan _would _never _have let the company fall into such a disgrace!" put in the third and younger biddie. "He may be a notorious cad, but his business sensibility is unmatched!' The other two whispered their immediate agreement.

_Now who in God's name is this 'Tristan'? _Felicity frowned heavily_. A 'he' from the sound of it...but a notorious 'cad?' Some family this is!_

Reginald himself excused Felicity from the room so that she could freshen up before dinner. Felicity got the impression that he did _not _want her left alone with the women (any more than Felicity herself did), and _definately _not the men, for from the men she had been getting looks of lust and wonderment now that they had gotten past staring at her with disapproval and annoyance.

As Forsythe brought her to her room, with Lettie close behind, he muttered to her tightly, "I must appologize, my dear, I did not want you removed from my sight today. But I must-" He struggled here "-have words with my uncles as well my aunts. I do not want you to be any more exposed to their leering and hostile judgments! When I wrote to tell them of you, I expected- nay, I _demanded _they accept you as my wife, but instead I get harsh critisism and argument. For that, I truly appologize, my angel. They do not know you as I do."

_Want to wager on it? _Felicity thought wryly. The only thing that kept her from expressing irritation was the expression on Reginald's face, which was one of a spoiled little boy who did not get the approval he so desperately sought, and was therefore on the verge of bursting into tears. 'Twas almost comical.

As they came to the jib-door, he sighed again, stressfully, and said "Lettie will keep you in your room until just before dinner with the door locked. This is more for your own protection than anything else. If even _one _of my uncles-by-marriage feel it harmless to come and proposition you, I want them to understand that you are _not _that sort of wife."

"Why thank you, Reggie. How dear of you," Felicity oozed, making herself sicker and sicker with every word she had to force out of her mouth. She stiffened yet again, held in her stomach as he stepped forward, kissed her, then nodded to Lettie to work the door. 'Twas a miracle he did not see Felicity's chin quiver with the extreme effort it took for her not to retch.

Once inside the room with the door locked under Lettie's control, Felicity strode to the porcelain wash basin, spitting and spewing until she rinsed her mouth out quite vigorously. Then she made an angry, disgusted sound in her throat and said, "Oh I cannot take much more of this _or _of him!" She turned about to Lettie, who stood close by, arms at her sides. "Did you hear him say 'not that sort of wife'? _I _overheard that coven of hags downstairs speak of me as if they believed I was a-a-a-" She couldn't even bring herself to say it now. _Whore_. Like a swift stab of a blade to her soul she recalled Ben calling her that to her face. Oh, it hurt! Tears sprung to her eyes and her fists balled.

"Prostitute?" Lettie completed for her, in that smooth, exotic accent. "Even among my people, women who spoke out and behaved independently were accused of being either bewitched or...sensual. There is always a price to pay for having fire in your soul. But why should you care what _they _think?"

"I don't!" Felicity retorted, taking up a fast pacing before the quiet dark girl. " 'Tis just that never in my life have I been accused of being...that kind of woman! Do they not see at all that I do not want to be here? Do they not see that I was taken by force from my home? I'll wager everything that he did not even tell them how he got me here. Not that they would care even if he did!"

"Imagine, then, being a slave," Lettie suggested flatly.

This statement halted Felicity in her frustrated tracks, immediately turning her ferocious frown into a look of guilt and sympathy. "Oh, Lord, I'm so sorry, Lettie. I'm just so..."

"Angry?"

"Aye!" Felicity flailed her arms helplessly. "_Believe _me, I understand now how horrible it feels to be trapped somewhere you do not want to be, to be forced to live a life you never, _ever _wanted! I understand that now more than you know!" She took up her pacing again. "And here we both are, all alone in this cursed room, him having entrusted you with the key, and we cannot escape!"

"But tonight we will." Lettie's dark eyes met Felicity's green ones with steady, undeniable affirmation. "Late tonight, after the dinner when they have become full of the wines and ales crowding up the kitchen, and after they all have retired to their rooms, _we _will venture out into the garden to the gnarled tree closest to the fencing. We will climb up halfway and out onto the branch that reaches out over the fence. Then we will drop to the ground like panthers."

"What is a panther?" Felicity asked, enthralled.

"It is what the white men call the great black cat that is a rarity where I come from. Like the small cats you whites keep, only much larger and much more fierce." There was pride in Lettie's voice.

Felicity was as awestruck as she was excited. "Oh I wish I could see a panther! I would love so very much to see the land you come from."

Lettie nearly smiled. After a moment she asked, "I know that he still gives you the medicine. Will you be well enough to climb?"

Indeed the fire in Felicity's soul was burning as much as the dark flames in Lettie's mysterious eyes. "Oh you can count upon it! Were I bleeding out my life's blood I would climb. No amount of those vile powders will keep me from it!"

Lettie raised her tapered chin in absolute approval.

"One question, Lettie...Why have you not tried to escape before now yourself?"

The dark girl looked unaffected. "I would not have got very far without a white to speak for me. I would have been captured again, and that I could not live with. With you I have hope."

Felicity grinned the widest yet, a flash of her old self. "It is mutual, Lettie. With you, _I _have hope."

* * *

Felicity was glad to not have to make any more appearances before dinner. But when she did, she had to partake in the tedious, elaborate ritual of upper-class dining. Reginald escorted his eldest Aunt (Dorcas) into the dining room (which appeared only slightly less morbid this evening due to extra candles in the wall sconces, a larger fire in the black fireplace, and extra tapers in the candelabras placed strategically on the long table). Dorcas was brought to the chair nearest the table's head, where Felicity was to sit, according to the rules of etiquette. Reginald was to sit at the foot, nearest to the dining room's main entrance.

Felicity didn't know which was worse: sitting with Forsythe as he droned on about his magnificent material possessions and the King or siting near Lila, Sophie and Jane, who droned on about _their _magnificent material possessions and the Queen. but for all of Reginald's boasting and his disdain for the colonies and the lower classes, he could not match the elegant maliciousness of the women. Upper-class ladies, Elizabeth had told her once, may dress and speak and move with the utmost grace and refinement, but they were meaner than spiders.

Felicity found this to be agonizingly true.

They took it in turns: Lila seemed to go out of her way to speak ill of the 'uncivilized colonies,' Sophie expressed overly-exaggerated shock in hearing how unfashionable the women of the continent were, and Jane dramatized her fear of being invaded by General Washington. There were _many _comebacks Felicity had whirling about in her brain, a thousand and one itches to reach out and whap their snow white wigs, but silent she remained. Silent and cool, pretending to be immensely fascinated with her veal. Only briefly did she glance down the long table at Forsythe, who she caught staring at her steadily.

_Making sure I do not say anything unapproved_, she thought irately to herself. _He will not look so smug and controlling this time tomorrow, ha ha, for Lettie and I will be long gone from here!_

She looked over at Pompey, who had resumed his stiff stance near Forsythe against the wall to await summoning. He must have sensed someone's eyes upon him, for he turned his head and met her gaze with his kindly aging eyes. She gave him a small, sad smile, which he returned in complete understanding. She wished heavy heartedly that she could take Pompey with her.

After two of the most tedious hours Felicity had ever spent sitting down (and squirming restlessly), dinner was finally beginning to come to a close, with Pompey filling the wine glasses quietly and patiently. The men would remain in the dining room drinking and gabbing. The women were to go to the drawing room and do only the Lord knew what. Felicity was _not _looking forward to _that_. Of the older women, only Aunt Dorcas was tolerable: indeed, the only thing she seemed to want to talk about was the theatre and the various actors she had met in her life. But she seemed out of her head for the most. Part of Felicity actually wished that Forsythe would come to escort her back to her room so that she would not have to endure these people.

Tonight she and Lettie were going to get out of here! Finally! After nearly four entire months of being in Lord Forsythe's keeping she was going to get away! The thrill of excitement made her squirm anxiously.

Forsythe rose, wine glass held at arm's length at his guests to give the closing toast. "My aunts, Uncles, cousins, i would like to again express my gratitude in gracing my new wife and myself with with the pleasure of your presence-"

"Why, cousin." drawled a silky male voice from the dining room doorway, "you really expected me to not accept your invitation?"

Heads turned as gasps were emitted, and Reginald fluttered his eyelids shut as if his most dreaded worry had come true. His three giggly, teenaged cousins giggled anew: one of them uncontrollably cried out "Tristan! Tristan is here!' This was followed by beaming smiles from Lila and Sophie. Felicity frowned. But as this 'Tristan' strolled into the room with a swagger that oozed over-confidence, glass of brandy already in hand, Felicity's eyes widened.

Tristan Forsythe was young, perhaps a year older older than his cousin Reginald at the most, but unlike the foppish Forsythe, he was astonishingly, mind-blowingly _handsome_. He had a head of golden blonde hair tied back in a curled queue, a build like the famed statue of Apollo, and eyes that were piercingly, icily grey. The aura he brought with him into the room all but screamed that this was a wealthy young man who got what he wanted, whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. He was smooth, he was cocky, he turned heads and made women swoon. He was a young god and he knew it. He downed the half glass of brandy as he strolled over to his clearly uncomfortable, frowning cousin and said, "Have you ever known me to pass up a party, cousin?"

Reginald had lowered his glass, sighed tightly and replied, 'We last heard you were in Paris. I would think my marriage too trivial for you to care to make an appearance."

"Oh come now, Reg!" Tristan Forsythe grinned provokingly, showing perfect teeth. "When I heard that _you_, of all people, were getting married, I just _had _to come and see for myself if it was true! So where is the unfortunate little thing?"

Felicity gulped, feeling as though ice-water had just been poured over her head. Right away she felt immensely uncomfortable, small and cornered. She had already gotten the feeling that his presence was not a good thing, and she had begun to feel nervous for reasons she could not clearly describe. _This _was a young man who carried power and wore it like a cape. _This _was a man people did not say no to.

The type of man who would not take no for an answer.

Felicity wanted to shrink down into her chair, but it was impossible. Tristan Forsythe's steely grey eyes found and locked onto her. She stared back at him, just as uncomfortably as Reginald looked, as a crooked grin spread across the strong face of the cousin one of the ladies had referred to as a 'notorious cad.'

After an extremely tense uncomfortable moment for Felicity, who quickly dropped her gaze to the table top, Tristan Forsythe marvelled suavely, "Well! So this is your bride! The _Lady _Forsythe."

"Join us, Dear Tristan!" bubbled Aunt Sophie, who beamed proudly. "We were all convinced that you had prior engagements! You've no idea how glad we are to see you!"

"I'm pleased you were able to come after all," said Fletcher Forsythe, who was his father and brother of the late Lord Maxim Alastair Forsythe. He rose and gestured generously to the empty seat beside him. "Do have a seat, son!"

"Thank you, Father," Tristan said casually, his piercing, exploratory eyes still locked on Felicity. "I dined in the city already...But I _could_, however, be tempted with dessert."

And good God, he was heading towards her.

Felicity gulped again, her heart racing warningly despite having a bloodstream full of powders attempting to keep her responses subdued. Tristan Forsythe strolled like a predator. His slantwise smile as he came to the head of the table was equally predatory. This was not good, oh no, not good at all. Not good the way he he did not look away from her even as he spoke to the others. The way he had just seen her and immediately became interested. Not good.

In one hand the wealthy young Adonis had been swirling the amber-colored drink in its crystal glass. His other hand picked up Felicity's nearest one, and with a firm, no-nonsense grip, brought the back of it up to his lips as he bowed over. He kissed it _quite _firmly. In a matter of fleeting seconds, Felicity got the goosebump-raising impression that _this _was a man very well familiar with women, familiar in a way that chilled Felicity to the bone with apprehension.

Also not good.

" 'Tis an honor to meet you, _Lady _Forsythe," he spoke, his voice velvety with an almost seductive tinge to it. He completely unnerved her, and it was obvious he was aware of it. "I did not know my quirky cousin was capable of luring in a bride...especially one of such exquisite beauty. Lord Tristan Forsythe of Halworth, my lady, at your service."

She knew every eye in the room was on her, whether in disapproval or not, waiting for her to respond, to react, so that she could be judged even further. She was aware of that, but what chilled her so thoroughly was this powerful young god before her, gripping her hand tightly, stormy grey eyes drilling into hers with interest Felicity had no doubt was wholly _carnal_. The phrase _notorious cad _passed through her mind, making her stiffen defenseively.

"P-Pleased to meet you, my Lord," she heard herself say, in a voice much smaller than she ever intended.

Swift footsteps on the polished hardwood floor meant Reginald was coming, having had enough of watching this unsettling exchange. He snatched Felicity's hand away from his chuckling, smirking cousin and inhaled deeply. "since you have decided to grace the manor with your presence, you may have a seat by your father. The ladies were just about to remove to the drawing room." 'Twas quite obvious that reginald did not care for his cousin at all. He had been relieved that none of his male cousins were coming, but this unexpected arrival had put him back into an aggitated, tightened-up state once again.

Tristan straightened, looked about at the gushing, blushing ladies (some of whom had withdrawn fans in which to waft themselves), but brought his gaze back to Felicity, who felt some unaccustomingly vulnerable sitting there being the object of desire of two cousins who clearly did not have much regard for one another. "What a pity," he said. " 'Tis the ladies who make conversations worthwhile." He grinned, showing dazzlingly perfect teeth.

"My wife needs her rest," Re3ginald inserted, sounding irate and tense. "She takes medicinal powders for her nerves. Come my dar, allow me to escort you back to your room." He held Felicity's chair as she slowly rose.

" _'Your' _room?" Tristan raised a well-groomed dark eyebrow, amused. "What sort of wife has a room outside of her husband's? Already having a matrimonial _spat_, cousin?"

Reginald glared at his relative menacingly. "A lady always has many rooms to call her own. When Felicity has had her medicine she prefers to have a lie-down in one of the smaller rooms."

Felicity was quick to take notice of Reginald's reluctance to let it be known that she did not share his bed. He did not want to be humiliated, no doubt. But they way Tristan smiled crookedly at him suggested that the visiting cousin already had suspicions about this so-called 'marriage.'

Reginald turned to his relatives. "Ladies, gentlemen, if you will accept my apologies yet again in removing my Felicity from you for the evening; I regret she cannot partake in our after-dinner pleasantries. tomorrow, perhaps, we shall all enjoy one another's company better...after a peaceful night's rest."

Felicity doubted that his kin felt any disappointment in her exiting the room.

The men and women rose to bow and curtsy, as did Reginald and Felicity. Tristan merely gave his head a nod, gazing at Felicity with a miscevious glint in his eyes. she did not smile back. She had not smiled at any of these relatives, but the unsettling presence of Tristan Forsythe had her feeling particularly frozen with worry. Reginald seemed to be escorting her from the room with extra haste, tugging her arm underneath his almost urgently.

As soon as he had her out of the room and heading for the stairs, Reginald muttered, "That loathsome scoundrel...daring to show himself here at my house. To be looking at you the way he did...Utterly despicable."

Had felicity not been shaken by tristan's immediate and unwelcome interest, she would have been amused by Reginald's anger. "Why is he here?" she asked, her throat tense and dry.

"To taunt me, as he has always done." Forsythe glared hard at the steps as they ascended the staircase. "He has _always _been the successful one, the acheiver, the one my very own father believed would have been the better successor to his business."

He was _definately _bitter.

"But your father apparently chose _you_," Felicity pointed out.

"So he did. According to may father's barrister he intended for me to take over the company, even though his _brother's _son Tristan showed more business savvy, or so believed. To my father _I _was merely some fey little boy who cried too much."

_Hmph_! Felicity thought sarcastically. _Imagine that_!

"But Father maintained the hope that I would grow into his manner of thinking, as all fathers trust of their sons. Tristan made friends easily as a lad, and the young ladies adored him. I assume there is not an innocent girl left in the whole of west England. But Father had a rivalry with his brother, my Uncle fletcher, as to who's business would be the most successful. they were rivals anywhere money was concerned, which is yet another reason why Father lost so much in his Fletcher warned my father that Tristan would be a better heir to the slaving company, but _Father _would rather be damned thrice over before he would yield an entire company to his brother's family. Even if he believed his own son was incapable," he added resentfully.

"But getting back to your question my dear, Tristan is here to hold over my head the fact that he knows the business is in danger. That he and his father could buy the company and take it over for themselves. Part of the conditions in which I was to inherit the company included my getting married before the age of twenty-five...yet _another _important part of life my father believed I was incapable of. I know Tristan and Uncle Fletcher came to see if it was true, that I indeed gotten married."

The unspoken truth that it was not a real marriage because it had not been consumated hung in the air ominously. Felicity swallowed nervously and tried to change the subject's course by saying, "Why would _any _rational human being wish to own a _slaving _company in the first place?"

They had come to the jib-door of Felicity's room. "Ah, Felicity, 'tis not your place to worry about the slavers. Look, these Negroes do not have to be paid. But they do get clothing, food, shelter and civilized religion."

Felicity's temper had been reaching a boiling point once again. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to launch a bitter argument with him right then and there, but she had been eager to get to Lettie. Diving into a verbal fight with him would ruin everything. _Let his foul business rot! _she thought angrily. _Tonight Lettie and i will get away and he will be sorry one way or the other!_

He bid her a reluctant goodnight, adding a kiss on her mouth, ans he hurried inside her room to spit, spew and rinse. Lettie locked the door from the inside, where she had been working on the 'time-consuming nightgown' by the crackiling fire. The dark girl waited patiently until Felicity was finished with her violent mouth-cleaning ritual, then commented flatly, "You look whiter than usual."

Felicity sank into one of the white chairs by the fire. "Yes, well, you would look white, too, if you had to spend an evening with that bunch of witches and warlocks. And yet _another _one of his foul family members arrived unexpectedly."

Lettie was immediately curious, almost apprehensive, even. "Who was it? Who arrived?"

Felicity sighed heavily, rubbed her tired green eyes with both hands. "Oh it was his 'notorious cad' of-a-cousin. The one named _Tristan_. Ugh! He reminds me of a hawk; an _evil _hawk, one that enjoys preying upon women. Lettie, is something wrong?"

The slave girl had turned away from her, moving to one of the tall windows, where she leaned upon the sill on braced hands. Her turbaned head shook back and forth slowly.

"What is the matter?" Felicity got up and moved over to her. "Is there something about this Tristan that I should know? I suspect that there is a _lot _to know about the entire wretched lot, but I mention _him _in particular, and for the first time since I've met you, _you _seem afraid."

She had laid a concerned hand upon the girl's closest shoulder, but Lettie suddenly slapped it away and turned away as well, striding back to the fire, not allowing Felicity to see her face.

Then Felicity, naturally, felt a warning worry come over her, something that told her this was _bad_. She did not conceal the worry from her voice as she said, "You have to tell me, Lettie, so that I can understand you. And don't you dare give me that 'you are white, so you are dumb' business, either. I may _be _white and I may _be _dumb about _some _things, but even you yourself said I was not like the others, remember? I am not, and you _know _that. Now _talk _to me!"

A few tense moments passed where neither young woman said anything. Felicity waited, arms folded tightly, jaw set, ready to take anything Lettie came out with. Finally, Lettie turned around, her dark eyes full of simmering hatred and raw fury. In her exotic accent she asked with suspicion, "Why should a white like you care about what happens to a _slave_?"

"For the reasons I just stated," Felicity tossed back evenly, her gaze just as steady and unblinking as Lettie's. "Because I told you I will not leave here without you and I hold fast to that. Because I have not, since the moment I met you, treated you like an _you _say that I have? No, you cannot. And have I not held fast to your advice, your counsel, choosing to follow as _you _have led me? I _am _your friend, Lettie, whether you like it or not. Friends care about each other. Now tell me about this toad Tristan Forsythe has such an effect on you. I am listening." To further emphasize that statement, she plunked down in her chair, arms still folded, eyes unblinking.

Lettie's breathing was tense. She had to allow herself to inhale fully as she slowly turned to the crackling fire once more, and when she spoke her voice was lower and tighter. "He is the worst of white men. He...abuses women."

Felicity's arms slowly uncrossed. She stared at Lettie with half uncertainty and half fearfulness. "What- what do mean by that...'abused'?"

Lettie was silent a moment. "You _know _what I mean."

Felicity gulped, her mouth growing dry with dawning horror. "Lettie, has he..."

The dark girl turned her head to gaze at Felicity with well-controlled rage in her ebony eyes. She was absolutely simmering with fury inside. "Yes."

"Oh...Oh my God." One of Felicity's hands popped over her open, 'O' shaped mouth.

"Twice he has used me," Lettie continued, putting her burning gaze back to the fire. slowly she too sank into a chair a couple of feet apart from Felicity's, and gripped the arms with cold hands. "And twice I have had to abort his white man's seed."

The strangled sound of shock emitted from Felicity's horror-tightened throat was uncontrollable, as were the tears that filled her widened green eyes. "Oh...that evil _bastard_! That _whoreson_! Oh! I just want to claw his damnable eyes out!" She jumped up, her fingers clenched in raw fury. "The whole lot of them, they are _all _monsters! And he is the _worst _of monsters! I am going to-!

"You are not!" Lettie hissed, reaching up to grab Felicity's nearest wrist. Her voice was deadly serious. "You will not bring shame and trouble upon yourself because of a _slave_!"

"You are no slave!" Felicity defied, trembling with outrage. "You are a human being!"

"Not to _them_!" Lettie pulled her back down forcefully and said in a hushed tone, "_They _took me from my home and forced me into this life of slavery. If a soul is not partial to that act of terror, then no one will be concerned with an act of physical violence on a slave! The one called Tristan does what he does because he can. Because he is a 'lord' and deems himself a powerful white man who even has dominion over other whites. And he is beloved of his family because his crelty gains them wealth."

Felicity gestured wildly. "He is _insane_, Lettie! He must be stopped! I will not _stand _for this injustice!"

'And if you _do_, you will be locked away and abused to no end! Is that what you wish?"

Felicity clenched her teeth in frustration, tears running down both cheeks. "C-Could he not just visit a b-brothel like other wicked men do? Why d-does he have to..."

"Because I am a slave. A slave can be replaced by another slave. A slave cannot speak out against a white. They can be tortured to death for such a thing."

"That might be the Forsythe-way of doing things, but I overheard Reginald say to one of his foul realtions that the groups of white protestors who are against slavery are causing difficulties with the slave merchants in Bristol. Not all whites are evil, Lettie. Believe it or not, there are whites who abhor this treatment!"

"They cannot help us now," Lettie said quietly.

Felicity wiped her eyes with trembling fingers. "True. But you and I can help ourselves. Tonight we leave!"

Lettie inhaled deeply, her troubled gaze slipping. "No. We cannot."

"What?" This second shock had Felicity's panic-level soaring. "Lettie, we have _planned _this! There is a manor full of people to keep Reginald distracted now! This is the perfect night!"

"No," Lettie repeated, reluctantly. "Lord reginald will be distracted. Lord _Tristan _will not."

Her heart sank fast, like treasure thrown overboard into the depths of the mighty Atlantic. "How do you know?"

"_He _drinks late. If he does not render himself unconscious, he prowls about for...women." She met Felicity's eyes briefly.

"Good God. That demon..."

"It would be in both of our best interests that we not leave this room tonight. we are locked in, he cannot get to us. We must think of another way- perhaps they will all leave soon. But as long as _he _is here, we must not be out at night."

Felicity's arms flailed helplessly. "He is but one man! We are fighters, Lettie! Look at all the hell that you have endured; you are still here, alive and fighting. We can scream, hit, scratch, bite and be menaces!"

"And that will in turn create suspicion as to why we were out of this room in the first place. Lord reginald is still not wholly convinced that you are reliable, and he has never looked upon me with any decent regard. Lord Reginald knows his evil cousin very well: he knows what his realtive seeks with a woman, as do all of the Forsythes. But no one speaks openly of it, nor do the other white men think it wrong. After all, a slave must do what a white tells them to, regardless of what it is."

A heavy silence followed for a moment. Felicity was able to find her voice again and say, "I know you tried to fight him, Lettie. I _know _you did."

"Yes. He is strong, even when he is full of the white man's drink."

Felicity rubbed her eyes tiredly. Lord, was she ever sick of being frightened, defensive and imprisoned! "Lettie, couldn't we _try_?"

"No," the dark girl repeated right away. "_He _will be about the house. And _you _have expressed that he has taken an interest in you, is that not so?"

"Yes," Felicity replied with a involuntary cold shudder.

"Then we will wait. Freedom will be worth it."

Felicity could not help but understand. Being in Tristan's presence during the day was chilling enough! She could not begin to fathom what he was like at night. But Lettie knew, and if the tortured slave girl advised against risking encountering him, then it truly was for the best that they wait out his visit.

God willing, it was only a visit.

They prepared for bed. Lettie slept on a slender cot that was pulled out from under the absurdly large bed that Felicity slept in, although Felicity would repeatedly ask if she would like to sleep in the more comfortable bed, too. Lettie would decline, but Felicity swore she would see a crooked little smile on the girl's face. On the cot Lettie had private space, albeit narrow, and Felicity assumed the girl preferred that. Slaves got little privacy enough as it was.

However, Felicity did toss her a fat fluffly pillow, and Lettie accepted it with a nod.

Felicity slept even more uneasily than usual, feeling the day's powders wearing off and an aggravating headache coming on. _Peculiar_, thought she, _I used to get the headaches when I consumed the powders. Now i get them when I have not! How queer! _But somehow she managed to drift off, worried about the presence of Tristan Forsythe, impatient to leave here, but determined to nontheless.  
She decided she would leave, with Lettie, and at any cost.

That evening, a sea-world away, a lone figure stood upon the broad, white-washed porch of a two-story building called The Black Bird Inn, leaning upon two braced hands on the porch's railing. Shadowed, sleep-deprived brown eyes gazed out at the bit of sea-shore just visible through pine trees half a mile away.

_She's out there, _he thought self_-_torturingly_. Across that vast expanse of salty deep water, she is out there. And it is all my fault._

A hand came to rest upon Ben Davidson's left shoulder, yet he did not jump. The voice of his long-time friend Walter Wheaton said worriedly, "You need sleep."

Ben shrugged Walter's hand away and straightened, moved over to one of the porch's white posts to lean and stare out at the water. "I _need _Felicity."

Tawny-headed Walter sighed sympathetically. "We _know_, Ben. Haverty and I are doing the best we can to help. But _you _will not be helping Felicity any by running yourself into the ground."  
Ben was silent, absorbed in his own hell.

"Now, according to the old inn-keeper, if we keep on this road south, we will reach the York river in three days, then we can be back in Williamsburg by-"

"I'm not going back to Williamsburg," Ben interjected firmly.

"What?"

"I am not going back. I am taking the nearest ship to England come morning." He sounded decided, determined.

"Ben, you can't! Mr. Merriman's message said to return at once- he is expecting you to return before you set off!"

Ben's gaze out at the ocean did not falter. "I can't. We have wasted nearly three months searching every sea-port between Virginia and New York. He has taken her to England. We know that. I will not waste another day."

Walter pursed his lips in thought. "You cannot go alone."

"Felicity did."

Walter squeezed his eyes shut, reminding himself that Ben was hurting and that no amount of sound reasoning was going to sink into ben's brain while this whole situation remained extreme. But walter determined to himself that he was not going to let Ben act on any rash notions he felt sure was going to lead to disaster. "Look, Ben, Mr. Merriman is already negotiating a passage fro you upon a British merchant ship going back to england. There is only so much he can do by letter. As weak as he is he needs you there to do what he cannot do in person."

"It will be faster this way," was all Ben had to say in reply to that.

"Ben, _faster _does not always mean _better_! If you buy a passage onto just any old ship you could find yourself taken prisoner, forced into the British navy, or even robbed, killed and tossed overboard! What good would any of that do Felicity?"

"She's worth any risk."

"Good God, man, how can you help her if you're _dead_?"

Ben finally turned his head and glared at Walter. Some of their argument must have sunk into the ex-apprentice's hot headed skull, for Ben's frown reluctantly eased up, replaced by the look of weariness and fear-induced misery Walter had been more familiar with for the past three months. "Fine," Ben mumbled at length. His shadowed gaze turned back to the sea shore not too far off.

Walter released a sigh of immense relief. "Fine, then. Haverty's accustomed to rising well before sun-up; we'll be up and out of here before you know it, with fresh horses, too. I'll wager we're back in Williamsburg before three days is up!" He tried to sound positive and encouraging, but it didn't seem to have any effect on the miserable young cavalry captain.

_And why should it? _Walter thought worriedly_. If it were my Jenny being taken away like that, I would have been willing to take on the whole British Navy myself just to get to England and find her! If there is truly a God in Heaven he will find Felicity and they will be together again soon!_

"Let's turn in now, Ben, I'm sure Haverty already has," suggested Walter kindly. "Sleep will help pass the night quicker, and then we will be off again."

Ben swallowed with difficulty, seeing as how his throat was tight with a lump of fearfulness for his beloved's life. He allowed Walter to clap a hand upon his shoulder and steer him toward the front doors of the inn. Letting someone else take charge was an actual relief, for it gave him more mental room to dwell on Felicity. as if one hundred percent of his brain wasn't already intensely focused on her. He didn't want to think of anything else. She was all he lived for.

It hurt- actually, physically _hurt_-to be without her. Never in his life did he feel such aching and emptiness! It was not like when he had been gone to war and his missing her was not so empty, for he had known that she was home in Wiliamsburg, protected by family and friends. This was absolute soul-shaking fear that spawned insanity. She was in _England_, in the hands of a mad-man who wanted to...

_She would rather be dead than marry Forsythe! _Nan Merriman had said_. And now, thanks to you, she just might be!_

Everytime those horrible words passed through his mind, the invisible, emotional knife-in-the-heart twisted more. So he prayed, mentally and in privacy, that God would either damn him for his lack of faith or guide him to his love so that he could have her in his arms again and forever. If he could never have her back, then he preferred death, for there was just no life for him, no joy, no peace, no _anything _without Felicity.

He only slept because his body's need for sleep had to take over and force his mind to be quiet. His sleep was not peaceful, for if he dreamt at all, he dreamed that Felicity was in constant danger, being tortured somehow, or dead. His own guilt was merciless. So he vowed he would find her, if the Lord would allow him that mercy, and love her such as man had never before loved woman. It didn't matter what the two of them would have to endure while they were apart, not in the way that it would ever, ever affect his love for her. He would marry her, see to it that no day would pass that she was not assured of his love and faith.

He would win her back.

But first he had to get to her, find her, and that he swore he would do no matter how long it took, or where on God's earth he had to go. He would find the love of his life and never, ever be apart from her again.

* * *

_Is it my turn, to wish you were lying here  
I tend to dream you when I'm not sleeping  
Is it my turn to fictionalize my world  
Or even imagine your emotions to tell myself anything  
Is it my turn to hold you by your hands, tell you I love you and you not hear me  
Is it my turn to totally understand  
To watch you walk out of my life and not do a damn thing  
If I have to give away, The feeling that I feel  
If I have to sacrifice oh whatever babe, whatever baby  
If I have to take apart all that I am  
Is there anything that I would not do  
'Cause inside, I'd die without you_

Oh, I apologize for all the things I've done  
Now I'm under water and I'm drowning  
Is it my turn to be the one to cry  
Isn't it amazing how somethings just completely turn around?  
So take every little piece of my heart  
So take every little piece of my soul  
So take every little peice of my mind  
'Cause if you're gone...inside...I'd die without you  
- lines from 'Die Without You' by P.M. Dawn

CHAPTER FINISHED


	12. Chapter 12: The Truth About Lucille

**Author's Note: **If you do not see Part 3 listed in the American Girl-section of , that is because the 'M' rating of this story has made it one that you either have to find in the Search section if you do not have a link to it already. As far as I know, that is the only reason it's not appearing in the American Girl listing. And I wouldn't want anyone uncomfortable with a mature story or someone underage to read it easily, anyway. I may be writing an adult-Felicity/Ben story, but that is not everyone's cup o' tea, dig?

* * *

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, PT3, Ch12: The Truth About Lucille

Forsythe manor was eerily quiet the following morning of the relatives' arrivals. A heavy January frost made rising at sunrise impossible for most of the guests, who preferred to remain under thick covers near lit fireplaces. Reginald Forsythe himself was up, breakfasting alone in the large dining room, mulling over the unwanted presence of his cousin more so than the fact that his father's business was falling into a shambles. And as if Tristan Forsythe was aware of his presence being damned, he strolled in, fresh from a ride on this crisp, clear morning with a slanting smile on his disarmingly handsome face and a knowing look in his steely grey eyes, which fixed upon his brooding cousin with a gleam of superiority and satisfaction combined.

"Had you forgotten that I am an early riser?" Tristan drawled, inviting himself to hot morning tea across from Reginald, as Pompey moved with as much haste as his aging bones would allow him to so that he could fetch another cup from the silver tea set. "I fancied an invigorating ride this morning, cousin. I found the stables quite clean and the grounds rather well-tended."

"Were you expecting otherwise?" Reginald asked, annoyed, refusing to look up from his newspaper to formerly acknowledge his least-liked relative.

"Well, seeing as how you've been so..._occupied_, let us call it, I had been convinced that you had been lax in your duties to the estate."

This time Reginald looked up and eyed his cousin with immense irritation. "I know you, Tristan. I know you never give anything or anyone so much as a second glance unless you see a way you can benefit. We both know you would not be here if you did not see a way you and Uncle Fletcher could take an advantage here. 'Tis truly pointless to ask, but _what _do you want?"

At first Tristan didn't answer. He merely smiled his cryptic smile and idly fingered the rim of his tea cup. After a moment, he inquired "This...'wife' of yours, Reg...does she _satisfy _you?"

"And just what the devil do you mean by that?" Reginald demanded snappingly, his discomfort and nervousness all too obvious.

Tristan chuckled lightly. "Only what I already expected, cousin. Had you bedded that girl you would know _exactly _what I mean."

Reginald's face turned an extra ill-looking shade of pale. He shifted in his seat. He didn't even seem to be aware that one of his absurdly frilly white cuffs had dipped into the sausage gravy still in his breakfast plate as he lowered his paper to his lap. "What goes on between my wife and I is absolutely none of your business, you understand! You are to stay away from my Felicity while you are here. How long _do _you assume to make a nuisance of yourself here, anyway?"

"Only as long as it takes to assess this property's worth," replied Tristan with smooth simplicity. When Reginald's mouth dropped open in shook, he continued, "Oh surely you did not think this was just a warm family visit, Reg. Father and I mean to have our lawyer assess this place, since the Forsythe Slaving Company is all but dry now, what with your late father's numerous debts and your lavish spending. Just how much _have _you spent installing our sweet little Felicity in this modern castle here?"

"You leave my wife out of this!"

Tristan sat back smugly, arms folded, vain and clearly enjoying watching his cousin squirm. "But that is just the thing, Reg! She is _not _your wife!" He said it with actual amusement and well-controlled glee. "Not in the official way. I have always known that you were incapable of controlling a female. Ever since that 'incident' with Miss Elswick, whom our Felicity does bear a striking resemblance to- no surprise there, you have shown that you have absolutely no masculine assertiveness whatsoever. Seems as though every woman that crosses your path meets an unhappy demise, cousin! Your poor mother, my Aunt Prudence, mentally vapid and reduced to wandering the manor like a pitiful ghost! Father is most displeased to find her in such a state. We both know you have had her dependent upon medicine for quite sometime, Reg. So that she would not go insane, knowing what all you have done...her only child...and poor Miss Elswick-!"

"Enough!" cried Reginald, rising swiftly to his feet. "You leave here today or I'll-!"

" 'What'," encouraged Tristan challengingly as well as humoredly. "Just what exactly will you do, cousin? To be quite frank, I do not seeing you being in any _position _to do anything- figuratively as well as intimately."

"Why you-!"

"Be careful, Reg," warned Tristan with a wickedly slanting smile. "Or you just might find yourself without a single shilling or a ruffle to call your own. Play nice and Father and I just might let you continue to live here. Maybe. And as for Felicity..." He laughed ever so softly but it was not in genuine mirth. "Since you cannot make her a Forsythe, seems as though _I _will have to."

"No! You will do nothing of the sort!" Shaking with rage, Reginald pointed his finger at his cousin and barked, "Felicity is mine! You cannot have her! Neither can you just borrow her like you do my slaves for your whore-mongering escapades!"

Tristan Forsythe threw his light-blond head back and laughed, an eerie, hackle-raising sound that echoed off the walls of the dining room and its high ceiling, causing even poor old Pompey to jump again. "Whatever do you know about my 'escapades,' dear cousin? Tell me, for I am intrigued!"

"Oh I know plenty about your ill use of women! How many offspring have you sired in the past six months alone? None you will ever claim, I'll wager! If only those beautiful, refined young ladies of high breeding you cause to swoon at balls and galas knew of your vile, shameful ways!"

"And what of _Lady Felicity_, hmm?" Tristan threw back immediately, enjoying the nerve-wracking effect he was having on his cousin. "How refined and well-bred is _she_? Talk is that you brought her to England from the American colonies, a poor, grief-stricken war waif in need of a hero- one with a great deal of funding, no doubt- and that she just happens to look like Lucile Elswick, of all people! Tell me, Reg, do you plan on loving _this _girl to death, too?"

"I will not tolerate this blatant disrespect in my house!" Reginald babbled rapidly, his face looking even sicker. "If _you _are so determined to remain, then perhaps _I _will remove Felicity to another location just so you cannot prey upon her like the beast that you are!"

Tristan's slant-wise grin grew all the more nasty "_Prey _upon? My poor, woman-whipped cousin, not only do you lack the sense to run a business but you obviously lack the masculinity to control a willful young girl! You can tell just by looking at that alluring face that she is a cannot ball waiting to go off! A perfect little peach that is much overdue a right good...'plucking'."

"Tristan Forsythe, you are worse than an animal!" Reginald shouted angrily. "You will not have Felicity! You will not have Forsythe Slaving Company, nor will you this estate! Not as long as I live!" Unable to bear his smug cousin's presence any longer, he strode from the room determined to go straight to his Uncle Fletcher and demand answers and clarifications that didn't include having his virginal wife violated.

Tristan watched his cousin go, chuckling to himself. No way could quirky, uptight, mentally disturbed ol' Reginald handle a girl like that Felicity. 'Twas no surprise at all that the marriage had not yet been consummated. _Lady _Felicity had fire in her eyes, she had that _fight_, the kind of willful resistance to being controlled that could only be broken by someone of greater fire.

Such as himself.

The girl had yet to become a full-fledged woman, and she was apparently fighting to keep her innocence. He had known such young women like her, and he had _deflowered _such young woman like her. Women were made for men. This young Felicity was defying that. He would have to take it upon himself to teach her that.

Those sweet little things that were full of fire were always the best to break.

Felicity ate her breakfast in her room with Lettie. then the two young women strolled out into the hall there on the second floor to explore the rooms that were empty of people. Felicity's defiance was directed at Reginald's relatives today; she absolutely did not want to play hostess and entertainer in a house she didn't even want to be in. What was more, Reginald himself had come to her not long after she had dressed to tell her that it would be for the best if she kept to the second floor most of the day since he was having to engage in 'serious discussion' with his Uncle Fletcher and he did not want her to be 'harassed' by 'certain people.' And Reginald himself seemed to be cork about to pop out of an already cracking bottle, leading both Felicity and Lettie to suspect things were far from docile between him and Fletcher Forsythe.

Which was good news for them, the two young women had acknowledged, for Reginald would be far too busy and stressed to pursue the 'marriage consummation' problem.

"This is not how I envisioned the celebration of our marriage vows," Reginald had told her that morning, looking more sick than she had yet seen him before. "_Nothing _is going the way I wanted it to."  
Felicity said nothing. Lettie merely stood by and inwardly revelled in the white master's misery.

So rather than chance any encounters with unkind, gossipy women and men with roving eyes, Felicity did indeed remain in the rooms on the second floor. Not that she was missed by any of the Forsythe women; they wanted to go 'partake of the waters' at the Hotwells despite the forty-something degree weather. The water that issued forth at the foot of the rocks of St. Vincent, under the steep crags of Clifton, was supposedly drank to cure whatever ailed you... and an excellent place to see and be seen, of course. The airy-headed Aunt Dorcas, naturally, was eager to see the theatre again.

Uncle Fletcher would be exchanging words with Reginald. Other male members of the family would either accompany their wives on the outing or explore the stables. Felicity prayed nervously that Tristan would be occupied one way or the other. Under any other circumstance she would not be afraid of anything, but when one was aware that they were the interest of an especially spine-chilling foe, one wanted nothing more than to be hidden from sight.

As long as Lettie was with her, Felicity reassured herself, she could handle anything the day would throw at her. The two of them, relieved of not having to make any downstairs appearances, secluded themselves in the second floor library, which was dark-panelled and furnished with heavy, gothick-looking furniture, busts of unknown, stern-faced Roman figures, and heavy mahogany-colored drapes his the tall windows. Lettie pulled back the dust covered drapery of one window while Felicity did the other. Pale, pre-noon winter sun filtered through the dusty panes.

Felicity shuddered lightly despite her gown of heavy periwinkle damask and woolen cloak to keep warm with. The fireplace looked like it had not been used in years, there wasn't a single piece of wood in it, nor a tinderbox anywhere in sight. She frowned without thinking at the cracked painting of a young man that resembled Reginald as well as the late father in the painting in the dining room. She had a suspicion...

"Is that the _elder _Lord Forsythe?"

"Yes." replied Lettie, who was rummaging through desk drawers looking for a tinderbox to at least some candles for warmth and extra light. "When he was younger. This was _his _private library."

"Reginald certainly doesn't want _it _kept in good condition, does he? I get the impression they never were a happy lot." Felicity crinkled her nose at the smell of dust in the air. "This is such a depressing room, too. One of the darkest I have seen yet."

"The basement is the darkest of all," Lettie assured her.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Do not be. You were not the one who put me there." Lettie had finally found a small, tarnished lead box that contained old but usable matches for candles. She lit all eight candles in a dull silver candelabra that was standing by itself on a sideboard and brought it over to the desk. Felicity scrunched her eyes shut and grunted, prompting Lettie to look at her with a cocked head.

"Are you ill?"

"I-I don't know." Felicity pressed her fingertips into her temples. "I woke with some head pain, but that went away after breakfast. 'Tis nearly noon now and it is coming back again."

Lettie came up to her without making a sound, moved Felicity's hand away from her face and peered at her closely. After a moment, she said, "You have not had all of your usual amount of the medicine this morning. I have seen this before. Lord Reginald's mother relies on the white powders; when she misses a dose or consumes less than what she is used to she begins to get ill."

Felicity blinked rapidly, attempting to control her suddenly watered vision. "Are you saying that not having as much of the powders as I have gotten used to will make _me _sick as well?"

"Apparently so."

"Oh blast, I was afraid of that!" Suddenly grumpy, Felicity leaned against the desk of the late Lord Maxim Forsythe, not caring how dusty it was. "Am I going to be relying on them to live, too, like his mother? Oh Lettie, I cannot be that way! She is practically a living ghost! What am I going to do?"

Lettie's reply was cool and correct. "You will continue as I have instructed: eat less of the food that contains the medicine. You have become used to them, so now you must become _un _used to them. Perhaps you will be ill for a time, but when all of the powder is out of your body you will be well again."

"But when will that be? I have to eat _some_. How can I help us escape if I get too sick?"

"You will help us escape because you want to escape more than anything. You will not let the medicine, or lack of it, stop you."

Felicity couldn't help but grin at that, even feeling as lousy as she was. "You are indeed right about that!"

"And you have not been consuming those powders as long as Mother Forsythe has been," Lettie pointed out logically. "She has consumed them for years. If she were to stop now she would very likely die. You will not."

_Nay, I will only FEEL like it! _But she nodded accecptingly. "I am too strange to die."

If one were not standing close enough, they would have missed the one corner of the mysterious slave girl's mouth curling up in the fleetingest of smiles. "Indeed you are."

Felicity grinned as she moved off the desk edge to go look at the dusty books on the equally dusty shelves, but a sharp pang in her stomach made her flinch and gasp. "Ow! I don't suppose stomach-pain is powder-related, too?"

Lettie nodded slowly as she looked about the room. "Yes. and you have not been eating much, so you are probably very hungry as well." She gave the red-head a direct look. "I will get some hot peppermint tea. That will help your stomach."

"Oh no, Lettie, you needn't do that!" Felicity protested pleadingly. "You are not my slave!"

The dark girl's face showed appreciation in that statement, but nonetheless she said casually, "There is a difference, you see, in you demanding a service of me and my _offering _something of service to you."

"Why, Lettie, is this a gesture of friendship?" Felicity grinned again despite her stomach pains.

Were the girl white, she would be turning red-cheeked. "You may believe it to be."

"You like me!"

Lettie started for the door of the room, her back to Felicity, so that the red-head would not see the struggle on her face to keep from smiling wide. Behind her, Felicity called, "You _do _like me, don't you? I knew it! Is it because I am strange? Is it because I make you laugh in secret?"

She opened the door a bit and said over her shoulder to Felicity, "You are a _silly _strange white woman."

"And that is why you _do _like me!"

Lettie exited quietly, closing the door softly behind her, leaving Felicity standing there wearing a sloppy grin. Her head was achy and her stomach felt like it was trying to compete. For one mad moment, she considered bravely stomping downstairs and out to the kitchen to request some of those powders. _A little would make the aches go away..._she thought, feeling curious. _They cannot deny me the very thing that I've been forced to consume all of this time_, _can they? _Maybe if she went now and caught up with Lettie she could add some to that peppermint tea...

But that secret notion would have to remain just that, for there was a knock on the door, making her jump out of her thoughts. "Lettie?" she asked, rubbing her temples with her fingertips tiredly. "I'm glad you came back, I would prefer to go with you out to the-"

It wasn't Lettie.

"Good morning, _Lady _Felicity." It was Tristan Forsythe. Tall, built, handsomely dressed, wickedly handsome, wickedly _smiling_. His nearly statuesque, athletic frame filled the door's frame as he pushed the door open and slowly entered. His grey yes locked with her clearly startled, wide green ones, and Felicity instinctively began backing away. Her mouth opened as if to shout for someone, but no sound came out.

_Stand up to him! He cannot do anything to you during the day. Do not show any fear! _She stopped retreating, however, only because her rump backed into the edge ofg the desk. She had no choice but to stop. And Tristan kept advancing. Slowly, casually. Felicity gulped.

"I overheard your 'husband' inform my father he was keeping you secluded upstairs for the day," he drawled knowingly, finally stopping a foot from her. "In my opinion, dear lady, that was not a very gracious gesture on his part, being host of the manor. 'Tis a rather rude thing to do, to deprive his guests of such a beautiful addition to our family."

If this was supposed to flatter her any, it certainly did not. She felt revolted, angered, remembering what Lettie revealed to her about him and his disgusting ways. For Felicity, nothing doused fear better than anger. If something frightened you, get angry at it and you could conquer it. "We are not family, my lord," she stated firmly, finding her voice still on edge. "What is it you want?"

His eyes flicked over her lazily. "Oh I was merely taking my own personal tour of the manor, when I heard an exquisitely lovely feminine voice coming from this end of the corridor. Imagine my pleasant surprise to find that it was _you_."

"Indeed, Lord Forsythe." Felicity heard her voice getting stronger.

"Please, let there be no such rigid formalities between us, Lady Forsythe," he purred. "Being a Forsythe now, you must learn to be comfortable among your new relatives."

"And I told _you _I am not any part of your family. My family is home in the American colony of Virginia."

"Ah yes, the war-traumatized bride!" He laughed smartly, folded his arms over his chest and eyed her with knowing amusement. "You and I both know what nonsense that is, my 'lady'."

Felicity's gruff expression went to sharply suspicious. "I will ask you again, Lord Forsythe, what do you want? I am in no mood for company today."

"Why, to get to know you better, of course. I was drawn to you the very moment I entered the dining room...I knew you were drawn to _me_, too. You are not my crack-brained cousin's wife, by no means! He lacks the abilities to appreciate a fiery spirit like you. He ses only his dead governess."

Felicity cleared her throat and raised her chin in defiance, doing her very best to show only stiff formality. "I am not drawn to you at all, Lord Forsythe. Not in the least. But you are correct on one matter: I am _not _your cousin's wife. I have never wanted to be. He stole me away from my home in the colonies, made me consume the very same powders his own mother has come to rely on in order to live, and gave money to a church in need of repair in exchange for being able to drag me there and marry me. Because of him, I have lost my dearest friend and the man I've loved ever since I was a child!"

Tristan's slanting smile widened and his eyebrows went up, as ih humored by her anger. "Now you don't expect me to feel sorry for you, do you dear lady?"

"Of course not!" Felicity shot back, outraged that he would even think such an absurd thing. She had merely been trying to make clear her situation here! "I want it to be understood, Lord Forsythe, that I am not here of own free will! I want to go home!" That is all I want!"

He took a step closer and Felicity pressed back against the desk without thinking. He was making her extremely nervous, staring at her like that, and she was afraid that she wasn't doing very well keeping her apprehension hidden.

"Now please, if you do not mind, I would prefer to be alone," she told him in what she hoped was her best 'that is final' tone, turning herself sideways in a gesture she felt sure he would take to mean that their conversation was over.

But that was not how he took it. "You are too beautiful to be left alone," he breathed huskily, stepping forward and taking her by the shoulders so fast she didn't even have time to gasp. "You are a trickster, _lady _Felicity, but you cannot trick _me_."

"I don't know what you think you are doing, but-!"

It happened so fast; he crushed her to him hard, kissed her roughly with his tongue pushing through her stiffened lips. Immediately she protested, pushing against his hard chest, going rigid in fright and wrathful shock. His grip was terribly strong. This was nothing like Ben's serious kisses: the first thing being that she _did not want this_, the second being his overpowering roughness feeling like it was purposely brutal. But then, this _was _a man who'd had his way with many women, including unwilling slaves.

As soon as Felicity had the space and the breath, she screeched _"How dare you!" _and brought a hand up swiftly to slap him- only to have the wrist of that hand grabbed hard enough to break it if he so chose. He only needed to apply a little more pressure and her skinny wrist would snap like a candy stick. He snatched hold of her other wrist, gripping it with equal ferocity, his steely grey eyes having gone from dangerously mischievous to just plain _dangerous_.

"Ugh! Let me go! You have no right!"

"Oh I assure you, lady, I have every right," he hissed lethally, keeping her wrists clamped to his chest despite her diminutive grunts and struggles. "In the eyes of the church you are now a Forsythe, my dear. 'Tis very much past time that you truly _became _a Forsythe. You can put off my lunatic cousin, but _I _am not so easily dismissed!"

_Oh my God. He's going to- going to- _"No!" she yelled in terrified protest, her heart pounding like mad in fear. "_You _are the lunatic! I know what you've done to Lettie!"

This last statement stopped him, just as he was about to force another cruel kiss upon her trembling lips. as she struggled uselessly, his crooked smirk reappeared with a glint in his eyes. "Ah! Well how about _that_! Been taking lessons on defiance from my lovely little slave, eh?"

"Whoreson!" She spat on him viciously.

_SLAP! _His loud blow came so fast, with such a sting, that she could not breathe for several seconds. Her face had been forced to whip sideways and her legs trembled, threatening to give way, but her toes curled inside her shoes as her fury refused to yield. She turned back to him, shaking, her one free hand coming up to hold the side of her face that stung like the very devil had sizzled it. Her other wrist was still encased in his blood-draining grip.

"Defy me, little hellion, and you will only make it worse," he told her coldly. " 'Tis a woman's place to yield to a man, don't you know that?"

"I will _not _yield to you!" Felicity managed to say through clenched teeth and despite a cheek that was beginning to feel swollen. "I told _him _I'd rather be dead than give myself to him, and I am telling _you _the same thing! I will lay in my grave first!"

"So fight me, then. Breaking you will be as much a pleasure as ravishing you will." His hardened face showed no mercy as his free hand roughly grasped the back of her head and began trying to get _her _face back to his for the forceful kiss he lusted for.

She screamed, struggled, pushed against him and tried to ship her head away. His fingers felt like they were pressing into her very skull. Was he truly going to get away with this?

"Tristan! Stop it! Stop it right now!"

It was Reginald, striding into the room with fists balled at his sides. But rather than attack his tall, well-muscled cousin physically, he came straight to Felicity, took hold of her arm and drew her back, away from the desk- a gesture he was able to do only because Tristan had quickly relinquished his hold on her her when he had been suddenly interrupted.

"By God!" Reginald spat angrily (as Felicity put a hand to the back of her throbbing head amid the mussed hair that had come unpinned, gasping for fresh air) "You are worse than any hound of sport I have ever seen! I told you repeatedly that my wife is off limits to you!"

Tristan's breathing was quick as well. he did not make any moves to come after his cousin or leave the room. He simply laughed, amused in the most bullying way. "dear, dear cousin, this 'wife' or yours has you utterly deluded! But because you are such a weak-minded simpleton, I will look over it. You have all but lost the business, this manor, and your hellion bride! You're too weak to handle any of them."

"I do things on my own time, in my own way!" Reginald seethed vehemently. "You are merely a bullying letch who cannot bear to have a woman say _no _to him! Felicity has told you _no_, I have told you _no_- what is it you cannot understand?"

"How a peony like you manages to wed a highly desirable _chit _like this," he replied straight away, gesturing absently at the heavily scowling Felicity, "and allow her to keep you at bay like a simpering puppy! 'Tis truly laughable! This filly of yours needs to be taught a lesson in obedience and _I _would love nothing more to teach it to her!"

"Bastard!" Felicity cried at him.

"But you will not!" yelled Reginald, putting a stiff arm out to keep Felicity from flying at Tristan like a rabid bat out of hell. "You are to leave my wife alone or I shall remove her at once!"

"That is an excellent idea, Reginald," agreed Felicity, her green eyes blazing with indignation. "The sight of this man sickens me. He is horrible and cruel."

"Indeed my dear, he is." Reginald turned his head in Felicity's direction, but his beady hazel eyes remained locked upon his cousin. "Would you rather be moved to another residence or remain here?"

Felicity gestured crazily at Tristan. "Remain here while _he _is here? I think not!"

Tristan Forsythe laughed, and it was a laugh that, although being his natural one, was heartless and unaffected by what was being said about him. "Oh my, my, my, Reg! You are absolutely _comical _in how gullible you are! No man in his God-given mind would allow a woman to have the final say!" He turned his icily cunning eyes back to Felicity. "Whether you make good on your end of the marriage vows or not, little hellion, do not be surprised if you find yourself meeting the same fate as the one whom you share such similarities with!"

Baffled, Felicity pushed Reginald's arm down from in front of her and snapped, "What do you mean by _that_?"

"Don't," warned Reginald menacingly.

"Oh you don't know, Lady Felicity? Then allow me to enlighten you! 'Tis known to most of the family that when Reggie was a lad of seven, his governess Miss Lucille Elswick took a little tumble down the grand staircase just as she was leaving to marry a fellow in London. But love was not what propelled poor Miss Elswick to leave Forsythe Manor! Oh nay. 'Twas discovered that Miss Elswick was with child- Uncle Maxim's child, to be exact! A slave accidentally walked in on them while they were, ah, _together_. But this slave could not inform upon his master, for he would have been killed.

"But yet, a certain seven-year-old lad accustomed to lurking in shadows to watch people and sticking his bony nose into places he was never invited happened to overhear the slaves talking about it in the kitchen one evening. So he found out, went to his father, who was outraged at little Reggie's snooping, and insisted upon sending Miss Lucille away with an unknown amount of money for her...troubles. heh. None of this was to be revealed to Aunt Prudence, of course, for her delicate emotional conditions was, even then, quite pitiful. Uncle Maxim threatened to have our little Reggie locked away if he told his mother anything. But I suppose my spoiled cousin here 'solved the matter once and for all' by propelling Miss Elswick down the stairs, killing her _and _the unborn child."

Felicity gasped, Reginald fumed, and Tristan smirked at them as if he were the puppet-master holding all of their strings. He was, by no means, finished:

"Well, of course Uncle Maxim was relieved to be rid of the troublesome wench. He had arranged for her to marry an associate of his in London: a widower who was desperately seeking a new, young wife. That Lucille was carrying Reggie's half-sibling was of no concern to Uncle Maxim. Spoiled little Reg didn't understand the situation quite well; he only knew that his beloved governess was leaving , he could not take. So he killed her."

"This place is a lunatic asylum!" Felicity blurted outrageously. "I do not care who did what to whom, I just want to be left alone!" With that she flew from the room, playing the part of the distressed soul (as Lettie had instructed her to do in a pinch, for it seemed that white women were ceaselessly swooning and in emotional distress most of the time). She gripped her skirts and ran, nearly colliding with Lettie and the cup of hot peppermint tea as she soon as she got out into the hallway.

"Lettie," she breathed hurriedly, lowly, "Tristan is in there with Reginald! Let us hurry to my room while they yell at each other!"

Lettie's mysterious black eyes had widened. She glanced at the doorway of the library as if she expected something (or _someone_, rather) vile to swoop out of it , then met Felicity's urgent eyes. Nodding curtly, she hastilly followed the red-head back to the room with the jib-door, which Felicity quickly shut and panting, turned to the uneasy Lettie and began to babble. She told the stunned slave girl all that had passed since Lettie had left the room. Lettie's brewing hatred was plain to see in her dark, dangerous eyes. When Felicity was done talking, Lettie was quiet, staring at the floor boards as if she saw the most loathsome face in creation there.

Felicity had moved her back away from against the jib door and taken up pacing. "Oh Lettie, will it ever end? If Reginald truly does arrange to remove me from here I cannot, nor will not, leave without you! Our plans for escape will have to change!"

"They already did, with the arrival of evil Tristan. But we do not need to despair."

"Perhaps we don't need to, but right now I could despair myself to death!"

"We must be calm so that we can think."

One hand was on a hip and the other was clamped over her forehead as Felicity paced. "Well I am absolutely unable to either at the moment!" She then clutched the bacl of her mussed head and stiff neck. "Blast! He is terribly strong. _Frightfully _strong!"

"He takes delight in his ability to physically dominate," Lettie said loathfully. "Did he hurt you badly?

"N-No." Felicity rubbed the back of her neck uncertainly. "I believe it is my sense of self-preservation that is wounded. I hate being the weaker sex! Why can't women be as physically intimidating as men? 'Tis so unfair!"

"I should not have left you alone in there." Lettie crossed the room slowly to stand at one of the tall windows with the curtains tied back. "Experience has shown me that a woman of _any _color is in danger when she is alone."

Felicity's fists balled. Bitterly, she said "_Why _does it have to be this way? Men believe _their _way is the only way! They think that all women, children, animals, _other _men, and-" So frustrated that she couldn't think of what to add, she gestured frenziedly. "- even the _grass_! is theirs to bend to their will! God! I just hate it! I have begun to be convinced that it is not for me to ever get married- _really _married, I mean! A spinster is considered an outcast, but at least she does not have the burden of a man to crush her entire existence!" She was so mad that she was shaking. Her green eyes were wild with raging emotions, her breathing rapid as she paced.

Without looking over at her, Lettie said with casual consideration, "The things you say go against convention. many white women would never allow themselves to think as you do, even in their own private hearts."

"Hmph! Because a _man _has dominion over their hearts, no doubt!" Felicity raged. " 'Tis a wonder that women are not arrested for _having _thoughts!"

"Drink this," Lettie ordered, going stoic once more. she retrieved the quickly cooling cup of peppermint tea off the little white tripod table and brought Felicity to an abrupt halt by presenting it to her. "I need to think, and you need to be still."

"I don't want to be still!" Felicity grumbled fumingly, but even as she said it she plopped down on the end of the bed and accepted the cup and saucer. Both head and stomach were still taunting her, and she had to admit the tea was soothing.

Lettie stood before her, thinking, her arms limp at her sides but her mysterious dark face showing suspicion. "Did...Tristan Forsythe seem to relent to Lord Reginald's demand to leave you be?"

"Oh no, of course not," Felicity assured her tightly, between sips. "I feel with all of my heart that the more 'unavailable' I am to him the harder he will try to find a way to get me. I am not afraid of him, certainly not, but I _am _afraid that he will find a way to...you know. Reginald is hardly a match for a butterfly, physically, so i cannot rely on him to hold Tristan back. Not that I would turn to him for anything, mind you. God, Lettie, can we not just get away tonight?"

"Do you think I have not been trying to think of a solution?" The dark girl's tone was not accusatory, but was indeed stressed. "Tristan Forsythe knows now that you are a desirable challenge, so the be out at night is impossible. You cannot be left unattended during the day, nor can you rely on anyone outside of this room...Lord Reginald wants to take you- us- away from the house, which would seem like that would present opportunities for escape in itself. Hmm..."

Felicity looked desperate. "Could we not simply _run_?"

"If you do not mind having the hounds set upon us."

"Oh."

There was a rapid succession of bangs on the jib door that made Felicity jump and Lettie scowl. Both young women exchanged a look.


	13. Chapter 13: A Deal With The Devil

"Felicity! 'Tis I, your Reggie! Do unbolt the door!"

Felicity sighed and sagged. Lettie raised her turbaned head and whispered, "Sit. I will get the door."

When Lettie unlocked the jib door, Felicity made damn sure the tea cup was up to her lips in case Reginald came rushing in at her in any wild attempts to hug and kiss her. And rush at her he did, although he stopped just short of tripping and falling over her in his haste to get to her side.

"Oh Felicity, I am truly sorry!" he moaned, clasping her closest arm in both of his thin white hands, for both of her hands were occupied by cup and saucer. "I have insisted that Tristan leave, but he will not, because he and his father want to take the house and the company from me, and make it into something akin to a shipping business, and I-"

"You mean they want to change a slaving company into a shipping company?" Felicity interrupted, looking amused by that.

"Yes. It would appear slaving is going out of vogue."

Aye, and YOU are going out of business, thought Felicity triumphantly. "Well, I cannot say that is a bad thing," she told him mindfully. "But they are being bullies about it. What are you going to do about keeping me safe from Tristan?" She had made a point of trying to sound like a spoiled, helpless female, for that tended to distract him from suspicion.

Lettie was listening intently.

Reginald sighed shakily. "my dear, I do not know. I can remove you to my townhouse in Queen's Square, but tristan knows of it. Still, though, if he insists on making himslef a resident here, 'twould be safer for you if you were away."

"Indeed!"

He patted her shoulder as if he believed himself to be the sole provider of her reassurance. "I shall make the arrangements for our departure into town today. Perhaps...you should...in the meantime..."

"Stay out of sight?" Felicity suggested, wanting to laugh inside herself, hoping that was the correct idea.

"Yes," sighed Reginald miserably. He wiped his forehead stressfully, then suddenly perked up. "You could remain in my bedchamber until we can leave."

"Reginald, really!" Felicity exclaimed, employing a great deal of exaggerated offensiveness. "How could you even think of intimacy at a time like this? And especially after the fright Tristan has given me today!"

"Yes, yes, indeed you are right." Forsythe drooped again, disappointedly. "He is out to ruin everything for us. But I will not let him. There is always a way." He gulped nervously. "About what he said, concerning Lucille and I..."

"He is trying to make you look evil, that is all," Felicity told him, as if she did not believe a word of what was said about him pushing the late governess down the stairs to her death. She most in fact did believe it, and as horrible as it was, she was not surprised. But now was not the time to lose focus. Felicity was aware that keeping Reginald convinced that she was 'on his side' was imperative to getting out of here. As long as he was distracted by his cousin's troubling presence, she and Lettie could look for opportunities. "You simply could not do such a thing to someone you loved so much!"

"Oh thank goodness you did not believe him, Felicity, for I do not know what I would do if I were to lose this new trust we have!" Reginald rose from her side and breathed deep. "Now do excuse me, my dear, I have arrangements to make, my lawyer to send for, and a very relentless uncle to bandy words with some more. I shall look in on you later."

Through gritted teeth and feigned civility Felicity said, "How lovely."

He bent to kiss her cheek, bowed, then spun on his abnormally high heel to exit the room. When he was gone, Lettie resecured the door, then turned to Felicity.

"Well done."

"Thank you, Lettie." She lowered the cup and saucer to her lap. "I hate being civil to him. Ugh! We have got to get away from here!"

Lettie nodded in grim agreement, moved over to a nearby chair and sat down slowly, hands limp in her lap. "Yes. And soon. I know Tristan Forsythe. When he wants something, he will go to extremes." She looked as if she could throw up having said that.

"The whole family is like that!" Felicity exclaimed angrily. "Reginald went to extremes to get me here, his Uncle Fletcher is doing everything he can to obtain the manor and the company- not that I give a fig-pudding about that- and now Tristan seems so determined to...well, you know. Part of me thinks if I leave here to go to this Queen's square-place, he will come there, too, or try to intercept our carriage along the way, or..." She sighed heavily. "Only the Lord knows what! Evil men think in ways that good men do not."

Lettie nodded again in agreement, but added skeptically, "I have yet to meet any of these 'good men'."

Instantly Felicity wanted to blurt out My father is a good man! And Ben is... But she held her peace, for Lettie did not trust white men any further than they could be thrown, and with good reason. And Ben Davidson? Felicity wanted to bitterly say Ben is a good man when he believes me and has faith in me, but the severe heartbreak that always threatened to do her more harm than anything Reginald Forsythe could do was always waiting for a chance to overwhelm her. As of now, she could not speak of Ben without shattering completely. Tears welled up so fast that she had to wipe them away in haste roughly. Lettie was looking downward, quietly contemplating, so Felicity did not have to explain away her emotional anguish.

But she knew in her broken, weary heart that she was going to have to confront her pain eventually, head on, and she was dreading it more than anything.

Later that evening Reginald came to eat supper with her at the little white tripod table, and to tell her ever so gloomily that they could not leave for town because of the rain. Indeed it had begun to rain; a cold, steady winter rain occasionally mixed with a few snow flurries. The road into Bristol was bad enough with all of its bumps and jolts, making a cariage ride hard to bear even without adding the mud and pools of standing water to it.

Just before bed Lettie was summoned by another slave accompanied by Madame Helga to go down to the slave quarters and tend to a young girl who had fallen ill and had asked specifically for Lettie. Felicity understood this well, for Lettie was the only one of the slave women who could speak both Ebglish and their native tongue. The girl had not learned good English yet, so it was mostly up to Lettie to translate. Felicity decided to go with Lettie instead of being left alone with her thoughts.

This decision surprised Madame Helga, who fussed about a "vite mistress does not attend to ze ill slaves!" but could do nothing about it since Reginald had given Felicity permission to roam about the house with Lettie, who obviously enjoyed the burly Swedish woman's discomfort over it. Felicity had no qualms whatsoever about going down into the slave quarters: if anything, she even strode one step ahead of her companions.

The thin, feverish dark girl could not be any more than twelve, Felicity assumed when she saw her lying on a crude-looking cot in a cormer of the lantern-lit basement. Sections of the basement were partitioned off by linen curtains, giving each woman barely enough room for her cot, washstand and tiny trunk, and even less room for individuality. There was only one fireplace, and a most unfriendly-looking one at that, situated at the opposite end of the room the sick girl was sectioned off in.

Felicity was appalled by all of it.

Naturally, the fifteen other slave women down there were surprised to see the new white mistress of the manor, and even more surprised when she followed without any hesitation whatever instruction Lettie gave her. Like repeatedly fetching basins of water from the manor's indoor pump. Helga stood with her big arms over her big chest and shook her head disapprovingly as she simply stood at the bottom of the stairs going up to the kitchen.

"Der vite mistress, being nicey-nicey vit der slaves! Hrumph! You ist a cuckoo, Missy."

Felicity cast her an irate look on the way upstairs to get yet another bowl of cool water. "For caring about my fellow human being? Fine, then, I ist a cuckoo! Being imprisoned here has made me one!" Then she stomped updtairs with her empty basin in the foulest of moods...

...only to plow right into Tristan Forsythe. 'Twas like he came out of nowhere. Felicity gasped, stumbled backwards, and attempted to turn and flee back downstairs to the slaves' quarters, but Tristan was faster, having anticipated her reactions even before she emerged from the stairway. His left hand went over her mouth and his right shut the door to the stairs amazingly fast.

Also amazingly fast was the way he hauled her into the shadows of the passage between the kitchen and the door to the stairs. Immediately she tried to bite the hand that firmly covered her mouth and nostrils. He whipped her around, shoved her against a wall and used his other hand to clench her throat. with her nose and mouth covered and her neck being squeezed she was forced to stop struggling to get free of him and start struggling to get air.

He put a finger to his crookedly smiling lips, indicating for her to be quiet. "Stop squirming and I will release your breathing passages. Understood?"

She was glaring hatefully at him, her own hands and arms ceasing to push and slap at his. She desperately wanted to get air. Indeed he smelled of strong srink and slight tobacco, and the glint of twisted pleasure in havng her in his ferocious grip once again filled his cold grey eyes.

"Felicity, do you understand me?" he repeated suspiciously, cocking his head and wincing. It would be so easy to squeeze the life right out of her skinny, fragile neck, but he preferred to be savaging it with kisses. "When I release you, you are not to scream, yell, or call for anyone. If you do I shall have to silence you in a very painful way. Do we have an understanding now?"

Still squirming for a breath, she glared as hard as she could at him, but nodded as much as his horrible grip would allow. As soon as he let her go, she wheezed, dropped the big bowl she'd been holding, inhaled, coughed, her own hands flying up to her throat to feel for damage as she fought to regain normal breathing. Tristan watched her as though amused. When she was able to speak again, her voice was strained and weak: "You are not going to get away with this. I will not yield to you, ever."

"I always get what I want, Felicity," he murmured darkly, his eyes looking dark themselves there in the shadows of the passage. "You are no exception."

"Why not?" she asked boldly despite the fact that she was trembling from head to toe.

"Because you are beautiful and unique. Different from other young women. There's just something about you that I cannot put a name to...other than your spiritedness, that is. I knew the moment I set eyes upon you that you were one I had to have."

"Well you will not 'have me,' as you say!" Felicity defied, her fists clenching tight at her sides. "You are disgusting and immoral, and to be forcing yourself upon slaves like my friend Lettie is unforgivable! Is it not terrible enough to take them away from their homes by force and burden them with a life they would have never chosen for themselves? You and your entire family are tyrants!"

Tristan Forsythe could care less about the plight of slaves. he chuckled, shrugged, and said, "so I take it you know very well it is true what I told you about our Reg and Miss Lucille?"

Felicity made an exasperated sound. "It does not surprise me in the least, but I really do not care! I have no loyalty to your Reg or to you, or to anyone else in this Godforsaken house, with the exception of Lettie-"

He was laughing. Softly, and as though he found her words to be merely a comical waste. "Ah yes, that 'Lettie' again. 'Twas her lot to do whatever a white master tells her to do, that is all. She was a fiesty one, just like you. What a pair the two of you are! Reg really is a fool for allowing you two to be thrown together! 'Tis a wonder the whole estate has not been burned down!"

"You had no right to so the horrible things to her that you did! You are pure evil!"

"Wouldn't be the first time I've heard that from a fiesty female! Well, little hellion, you are no lady, so stop trying to carry on like one." His mood and tone turned serious in a way that made the little hairs on the back of Felicity's neck and on her arms stand up straight. "What attracts me, I shall say, is the fire burning in little tarts like you and the black girl. The willfulness. the airs of determined unavailability. You are unspeakingly just asking for it, and you know it."

"Oh no I'm not! I shall split hell wide open first!"

"Do not fight me, Felicity, you will only make it worse for yourself. You are a Forsythe now, therefore you must submit to it. If not to Reg, then to me. Women were made for men, and therefore never meant to remain virgins."

His loathsome logic enraged her so much that her breathing accelerated greatly. "You are insane! What about nuns, then, hmm? Oh! As if I am going to stand here and listen to any more of the rot that's coming out of your mouth!" She tried to turn and run away in indignation, but the clamp of his hand on the upper part of her nearest arm was so swift and so hard that she yelped uncontrollably.

He pulled her back and pushed her against the wall again, this time keeping her pressed to it by gripping her shoulders and applying his strong pressure. Felicity attempted again to break free by squirming more, but that was useless against someone who's arms were like dungeon bars. she clenched her teeth and hissed, "I will scream if you don't let me go!"

"And if you do scream, I will suffocate you," Tristan replied with icily calm indifference. "You will never see your family again."

Insanity threatened to errupt at the mere mention of her family, so far, far away from her. "Do you really think that threat is going to work on me?" She was the one laughing now; a bitter, half-crazed laugh that was anything but amused. "Reginald had been using it all the time! I know I am never going to see my family again! I would rather die than give myself to you or your ass-cousin! I don't know how many times I have had to repeat myself, but I will continue to until it is understood!"

The crooked smile reappeared on Tristan Forsythe's face. "What if I told you that it would be very possible for you to be with your family gain? That it absolutely can happen?"

Felicity stared hard at him, silent at first. She swallowed with a little difficulty and ventured doubtfully, "I find that hard to believe coming from you. Reginald attempted to sway me with a tale like that, provided I am carrying his offspring in my gut first. But that is never going to happen, and I find it impossible to consider that you or he would ever do anything out of the goodness of your hearts because neither of you have a heart."

He was to the point right away. "I want one night with you."

"Oh I figured it was something like that," Felicity said quickly and sardonically. "You really are no different than your cousin."

"Ah, but unlike Reg, I always keep my word," Tristan told her smoothly. "One night with you, m'lady, and I will put you on the fastest ship to the Colonies there is. You have my word on it. Nothing would please me more than to see my spoiled wretch-of-a-cousin go to pieces over losing his prized-bride, as he is quickly losing everything else." His lusty gaze flicked over her, up and down. "Well, almost nothing would please me more."

Felicity was utterly revolted, of course, and it showed in her angry green eyes. Quite actually, she did believe Tristan would keep his word about sending her home just to spite Reginald, and Reginald would indeed be spited. But the cost? It made her shudder with sickness right down to her very soul! How horrid it would be, to sacrifice herself just so she could be put on a ship to go home disgraced. No doubt, her reputation in Williamsburg was ruined now, anyway. Everyone knew that when women were snatched away it was usually for one reason.  
But to be with her family again...

"Listen to me, Felicity," Tristan said unwaveringly. "We can do this the hard way or the 'mutually beneficial' way. Good Heavens, I will even sweeten the deal: Not only do you leave England, but out dear Lettie goes with you."

Her eyes widened in stricken surprise.

"Either way, I will get what I want. I always do. No woman has ever denied me, no woman ever will. Choose wisely, Lady Felicity, for my patience is wearing thin." Seeing that her frightened gaze had slipped to the floor, he added, "You will speak of this arrangement to no one. After all, I could make you suffer horribly. Believe it."

Burning tears began to fill her eyes and her chin quivered uncontrollably with the effort it took to keep what composure she had left. 'Twas do or die, literally. when she found her voice again, it sounded alarmingly small. "Why must you be so evil..."

" 'Evil'?" He chuckled, her anguish meaningless to him. "What you deem to be 'evil,' m'lady, is simply man having his way. Oh, now don't look so concerned. You'll enjoy it."

Oh how she wanted to retch! She could not believe this was truly happening to her, after everything else she had been through thus far. Never in her life had she imagined such things would happen to her! But this nightmare was real, it was truly happening, and now she was faced with a decision that, yes or no, would leave her broken forever. If she lived.

At least if she was home with her family she could die of shame in her own bed.

"Well, Felicity?"

Slowly her eyes rose to meet his, a single tear welling up and over her lower left eyelid to slip down her cheek. She did not recognize the voice that came out of her mouth as being her own, sounding so small and thick and numbed with fatalistic decision: "What you said about Lettie..."

"I meant it." He took her chin between a thumb and finger, seeing as how he no longer needed his hands to keep her pinned to the wall. "Now, do we have a business deal?"

Against her better judgement, against her own heart and mind screaming NO! Felicity slowly nodded, feeling sicker than she had ever felt in her life. A deal with the devil himself, just to be with her family again. A sacrifice of her innocence, her sanity, her self-respect, and bascially her very soul. Not how she envisioned losing her virginity, which ever since she'd been old enough to feel those 'awakenings,' she'd felt it would be claimed by Ben Davidson.

Ben! He hated her now. he believed the very worst of her now. Probably marrried Clarissa Dupre in November, and now Clarissa was most likely already expecting Ben's first child. Those two soul-killing thoughts were a massive blow to her will-power. She could even feel herself getting weaker and weaker. Should've killed myself when I had the chance. Like I had planned all along..

Lettie. Lettie has suffered at the hands of this monster and survived. She will get to go home with me. At least we can comiserate on our ruined lives together. She will be free. Can't just leave her here, I promised... A sob issued from from her throat, making her whole body jerk. She nodded again, unable to utter a 'yes' from her numbed mouth.

"Excellent," murmured Tristan triumphantly, taking hold of her arms, although his grip was less severe than before. He stepped even closer to her and lowered his voice. "You wil come to me in the barn tomorrow night at midnight. I will arrange it so that you slip out of the house without incident. I trust that you will not even speak of our tryst to dear little Lettie?"

Humiliated, Felicity nodded.

"Very good. I will be waiting for you, Felicity. Do not disappoint me, or you and Lettie will pay a very dear price." The crooked smile returned, more smug and victorious than ever. "Now let us seal the bargain with a kiss..."

Her stomach lurched with nausea and dread as her crushed her mouth to his. The rough intrusion of his tongue was completely different from the Ben had done it; this was done with dominating maliciousness. She grunted protestingly, stiffening all over as a natural reaction to something repulsively unwanted. She turned her head away from him quickly just as soon as he pulled back a little, a gesture of utter disgust he found amusing.

"You will not turn away from me tomorrow night," he taunted in his sick playfulness. "Hellion."

She couldn't stand it any longer. She yanked away from him as hard as she could- but only because he allowed her to. She fled into the the kitchen, to the large washing basin and shakily pumped water into it to splash upon her burning face by lantern-light. She wasn't aware of her own quiet crying as she did so. Crying, because a person could only take so much before they cracked under their burdens. Fearfully, she looked back at the dark passageway to see if he still lingered there, but he was gone.

Felicity just wanted to drop to the floor and sob until she died. Her legs felt weak like dried cornstalks, her soul was shaken, and her mind was reeling. But she gripped the rim of the big basin and quieted herself, thinking of Lettie, who had suffered twice as much abuse from him and still wanted to fight back. The thought made Felicity believe that Lettie's people must surely be a strong people, a race of spine-hardened humans who came from a savage land and were accustomed to dealing with other savage creatures.

But the two-legged variety of creatures were often worse than the four-legged.

She moved like the walking dead back to the passageway to retrieve the dropped slaves' basin, remembering numbly that there was a feverish slave girl in need of cool water to be bathed in. No, she would not mention the 'arrangement' to Lettie. Lettie woul never agree to let her go out to Tristan Forsythe. This is for both of us, Lettie, thought Felicity sadly. We can go home. You will be free...I will see to it.

She swiped a forearm across her eyes, struggled to set her face to be as blank as she could manage, and concentrated on getting the big bowl of water back down the stairs without her shaking hands dropping it.

* * *

Ben Davidson was seated on the edge of a chair in the Merrimans' parlor, his travel sack laying at his boots. Mr. Cole, Mrs. Cole. Elizabeth and Arthur Pratt had all practically come flying over just as soon as rose had told them Ben had returned from New York and was preparing to leave again, this time for Bristol, England. Mr. Merriman was giving him last-minute instructions, then he would leave for Yorktown and the ship that would bear him across an unpredictable ocean.

Mr. Cole and Mrs. Cole sat together on one two-seater sofa while Mr. and Mrs. Merriman sat together on the other, nearer to Ben. Elizabeth and Arthur sat in chairs close to Elizabeth's parents. The only one who chose to remain standing was Nan Merriman, who's nerves were in such a state that she could not sit and be still for a minute. She stood close to her father in case he needed assistance, glaring at Ben with cold blue eyes that Ben himself dared not meet. He was already sickened by his own guilt enough, and it did indeed show all over his paled, shadowed face.

"Now Ben," Mr. Merriman was saying, "you must be aware of your surroundings at all times once you are off the ship. There are press gangs who will prey upon able-bodied male visitors to force them into the service of the King's navy." He paused, looking heavily worried. "We do not want to lose you, too."

"Hmph!" snorted Nan in a speak-for-yourself manner.

"We have not lost Felicity, sir," Ben said tightly. "We know where she is, and I will get her back."

Mr. Merriman smiled just the slightest bit. He was still recovering from being twice shot, and his healing was slow and ardurous- and that was due to the stress and sadness of having his eldest living child so very far away without knowing whether she was alive and well or not. He walked with a gentleman's cane now, since his side still hurt him even long after the musket balls had been removed. But he was still alive, no doubt in thanks to his loving, attentive wife and the love of a family still clinging to hope, clinging to each other, trusting that Felicity was still alive.

"But Ben," put in Mr. Cole with concern, "these press gangs are not to be taken lightly. 'Tis horrible that the King's nave has been reduced to such behavior! But the Bristol quays can be a strange place for someone who is unaccust-"

"Oh Father!" came Elizabeth's exasperated interruption, for she was at the point of bursting. "Really! Ben cannot possibly go alone, 'tis too dangerous!" She promptly turned to Arthur beside her, nearly dozing off. "Arthur, I absolutely refuse to marry you until you help me and Ben bring Felicity home!"

Gasps and expressions of shock sounded around the room, but none so taken aback than Arthur, who was startled right out of his almost-nap, his posture going rigid. "Wha-huh?" He blinked rapidly. "What d-did you just say, my love?"

"You heard me!" Pretty, pert Elizabeth stood up to address them all, hands on hips. "I am going with Ben to England to get my best friend back, and you, Arthur Pratt, are coming with me!"

"Elizabeth!" exclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Cole in shock. Nan and Mrs. Merriman exchanged a surprised look. Ben just looked at her as if he wasn't surprised at all: he did not care who went with him just as long as he went. And he knew that Elizabeth, like himself, was drowning in a sea of torturous guilt. Sitting around doing nothing was the quick path to insanity.

Elizabeth raised her chin. "We all know Ben cannot go alone, so therefore Arthur and I shall accompany him. Mother, Father, you must understand that part of Felicity's being taken was my fault: I reacted in haste. I let my fears get the better of me, and now..." She swallowed with difficulty, the cruel rock of emotion in her throat nearly choking her. "Well, I also go to seek forgiveness from someone who is a chosen sister to me. and Ben needs a guide! Arthur and I know England. Together, the three of us will fare better than one!"

"Beth, dearest," Mrs. Cole began carefully, feeling immediate panic for her daughter, "i know you mean well, but-"

"You cannot stop me, Mother," Elizabeth told her firmly. "If there is one thing I've learned from all of my years of friendship with Felicity, 'tis that it is important to stand up for what you believe in. I believe Felicity is alive there in England, and I mean to fetch her back!"

Mr. Cole attempted to reason, for he was merely being a concerned parent, he could not help it. "Beth, you were very young when we visited Bristol..."

"I do have some memories, Father," she assured him determinedly. "But more importantly, Arthur and I know how to carry on with people- no offense to you, Ben, but some people there might react strangely to your intensity." (Ben nodded) "And I will be perfectly safe with these two fine men to protect me. Do not forget, Father, that Felicity was forced to go alone with only that terrible little man."

Mr. Cole nodded, feeling pangs of guilt himself. "The trip to England is so long, Beth...and the return is even longer, if not harder."

But Elizabeth could not be swayed. "I have decided, Father. I go with Ben and Arthur." She turned again to her befuddled fiance. "Can your family spare you, Arthur?"

"Well, yes, I-"

"Good. Now take me home so that I may throw some things together and be ready as soon as possible. Father, may I have money for our passage aboard the ship?"

Seeing that she could not be swayed, Mr. Cole smiled and nodded acceptingly. "Very well, Elizabeth, I shall accompany you home so that I can give you what you need. Your mother and I cannot convince you to stay and let the men return Felicity?" The worry in his voice matched the worry on his wife's face.

"Nay, father. I know what I'm about. I am no weakling. Now please, we must hurry if we are to leave with Ben for Yorktown!"

So it was decided. Although wary of the tossing and stomach-churning dips and sways of ship travel, Arthur Pratt did deem it best that he and Elizabeth should accompany Ben to Bristol. His guts just didn't like the idea of being back on a ship. Right away he evisioned himself doing as he had done on the trip over from England years ago: hugging the main mast. He gulped, swalloed his fear, then quickly rose to face the Merrimans: "We shant return without your Felicity, good people. You have my word as a gentleman."

"We already know, dear Arthur," Mrs. Merriman told him kindly, tears sparkling in her eyes.

Blushing a bit, Arthur cleared his throat, straightened his coat and squared his shoulders. "Yes! Well! Let us be pushing off! Young Benjamin, the three of us will require fast horses."

"Horses?" inquired Mrs. Cole, her worry for her daughter's safety rearing itself anew. "You are going to ride a horse all the way to Yorktown?"

"My goodness, Mother, we certainly are not going to walk! And a carriage would take far too long! 'Tis not as if I have never ridden before; I was taught by Felicity!" This last statement was full of pride. She tightly embraced her mother, kissed her cheek, then turned to take Arthur's arm.

With his wife's help and that of the cane, Mr. Merriman got up on his feet to face his friends. "Thank you, all of you. I know the three of you will do your best. Elizabeth, you are a fine, brave, amazing young lady. I know in my heart you will find Felicity." There were tears in his eyes, too.

As a matter of fact, there wasn't a single dry eye in the room. Had young William and Polly not been busy giving attention to the horses, they would be in there with tears in their eyes, too. Ben was already nearest the door, sweeping a sleeve across his eyes. he inhaled swiftly and said, "Please, we need to be going. I will take Penny, Arthur can take Patriot, and Walter Wheaton will loan us a horse for you, Elizabeth"

Elizabeth nodded satisfactorily.

"Ben, stop at King's Creek and tell Mr. Tate the three of you need fresh horses at once to continue on to Yorktown. He trusts you, of course, but he will send a stable boy along with you to bring the horses back from Yorktown. Be careful, the three of you." He hesitated, seeming to be wanting to add more, but his own overwhelming emotions were surely to burst if he said another word right then. Nan had stepped close to him in case he needed her help to move.

"When next you see us," rallied Arthur Pratt, beaming with the optimism the rest of them had been needing so badly, "we shall be four!"

"Yes," agreed Elizabeth firmly. "Now let's do go!"

"Yes dear." Arthur trotted along as Elizabeth hauled him by the arm. Mr. Cole bowed to all of them and followed his daughter. Ben was the last to leave. He looked back at the Merrimans and at Mrs. Cole, who stayed with Martha Merriman quite a lot these days.

"I will not return without her," Ben promised them.

"Good," agreed Nan icily. "See that you don't."

Ben met his former master's eyes, nodded briefly and left. Another moment in that sad, dreary house would have been the end of him. Without Felicity, nothing was the same. Food had no taste, a sunny day was no better than a stormy one, air itself wasn't even fit to breathe. There was just no living without her.

When Elizabeth and Arthur returned from their homes with sacks containing only what they needed, Ben had just finished saddling Penny and patriot, and there was a third horse borrowed from Walter Wheaton named Daisy. Elizabeth wore her smart and pretty dark pink riding habit fashioned so very much like Felicity's hunter-green one. And like Felicity, Elizabeth was determined to ride astride the horse. This was no leisurely outting. Daisy was sweetly named, but Walter had assured Ben that the white mare was a gunshot. Mr. and Mrs. Merriman stood beside the Coles, watching them mount up. And no one even thought of pointing out the improprieties of a known gentlewoman riding like a man.

Once they were mounted, Ben took one last look at Felicity's parents, determined that they would yet become his in-laws. Held steady by Martha and the walking stick, Edward Merriman raised his hand and said, "Godspeed, all of you."

Ben nodded, too choked up for words. A brief glance at Felicity's bedchamber window half revealed Nan standing in a half-shadow with her arms folded tightly. He did not have to see her face to know her eyes still burned with contempt and distrust. He knew she was believing that he would return without her hurt, but he turned his sorrow inward upon himself and further determined that if he discovered the worst...that if Felicity was...gone, then indeed he would not be returning.

He would be dead, too.

The three of them took off at a canter, not wanting to run over any men, women, children or soldiers both French and Continental, that were roving about town. Elizabeth had kissed and clasped hands with her parents one last time, both of them whispering their love, their prayers and their pride in their youngest daughter to her. The two sets of parents watched the young trio make off for the road to Yorktown.

The Merrimans and the Coles were both left feeling deep worry for them, but yet there was sense of hope renewed, a true sense of reassurance unfelt sense this whole nightmare had begun. Their confidence suddenly seemed as clear as the early afternoon sun in the pale January sky.

The only one who felt any dread at all was Nan Merriman.

* * *

Standing alone on the quarterdeck of the two-masted brig the Titania, Benjamin Davidson leaned upon the gunwale with both hands, steadily gazing up at clear evening sky already full of stars despite the glow of a setting sun in the west behind the ship. He looked as if he were not aware of the evening activity going on behind him; the ship's carpenter conversing with one of the ship's quartermasters about no repairs needed that hour, topmen going up or coming down, the dog-watchmen going about their duties, the sounds of snapping sails, the clang of seven bells to relay the time of seven thirty. He didn't seemed to be bothered in the least by the rising and falling of the ship as she sailed along in ggod winds, albeit cold ones that stung cheeks and chapped lips. He seemed to not feel anything at all.

Elizabeth and Arthur Pratt were below deck, passing themselves off as a married couple so that Elizabeth would not have to be alone. Knowing Arthur, the gentlemanly modest Brit would choose to sleep on the floor with blankets so that Elizabeth would have the somewhat comfortable cot to herself. But if Elizabeth truly was anything like Felicity, she would insist that Arthur share the cot with her.

After all, nights were so cold.

Ben had never sailed upon a large ship before. Oh sure, he ahd been on riverboats before, and in rowboats; he'd even rowed Felicity around some when he'd spent time at her grandfather's plantation by the York river. But this was very different than being in a river: This was a huge English brigantine returning people to their home country, a sailing ship surrounded by water and sky everywhere you looked. There was more risk, more danger than a rowboat on the river, even during a storm. It didn't occur to him to even wonder if he should be sea-sick or not.  
He could not think of anything but Felicity.

Where in Bristol was she? Has she been terribly frightened on the sea-voyage she'd forced to endure? Was she cold? Was she warm? Had she gotten away from Forsythe, and if so, was she even still in Bristol?

It was these kind of thoughts that tormented him to no end. Made him crazed with fear for Felicity's life. What if she had been...abused? He closed his eyes at that most horrible thought. She would never be the same. She would be utterly destroyed. His teeth gritted. But even still I would love her! Nothing can ever change that. No matter what happens to the both of us, I love her unconditionally, always and forever. She will not be able to get shed of me!

He felt more determined than ever to find her, even if he had to scour all of England to do so. and this time, he would kill Forsythe once and for all. He felt his holstered pistol at his right thigh, underneath the long thick coat he wore, and was assured of his shooting skills.

I'm coming, Lissie, he prayed to the sky full of stars above him. Just hold on, love, I'm coming to you!

* * *

You're living your life in somebody else's heart  
My love is as strong as oceans are far apart  
A summer song keeps playing in my brain, And I feel you,  
And I see your face again  
There's no escape, I lost everything in losing you  
Ah, I wish you were here, drying these tears I cry  
They were good times, and I wish you were here, and calling my name,  
But you're dealing with a man insane, the cost,  
How hopelessly I'm lost  
I tried to throw our love away and I can't let go

And so I awake, in somebody else's dream (Its not what it seems)  
It's only a lie, I've yet to decide who's real  
The blood red rose will never die  
It'll burn like a flame in the dark of the night  
I'm not afraid, I'd give everything if you hear me there  
Ahh, I wish you were here, drying these tears I cry  
They were good times, it's that time of year, for being alone,  
But you're dealing with a heart of stone  
Try, to kiss and say goodbye  
Tried to throw our love away and that storm will blow...

lines from 'Wish You Were Here' by the BeeGees; not a disco song, not fast nor too slow, but sadly romantic. Check it out on YouTube!


	14. Chapter 14: The Sacrifice For Freedom

**Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE Pt3, CH.14 The Sacrifice For Freedom**

'Twas the night after Tristan Forsythe's insidious 'proposal' and Felicity lay wide awake in bed in her nearly-dark rrom, feeling icy chills run down her spine despite a small crackiling fire going in the white marble fireplace. She was still dressed in her dark green day dress, which Lettie did not think suspicious, for Felicity slept in her clothes most of the time, anyway, saying it 'helped her feel safer.' Being bound up in a corset herself, Lettie knew there was truth to that. The dark girl was fast asleep on her cot, oblivious to hte wicked arrangement soon to be carried out.

Felicity had herself bolted the jib door late that evening, so that Lettie would not feel compelled to use the key to have it thoroughly locked. She felt she had done a theatre-worthy job of acting like there was nothing wrong, like she was not about to send herself straight to hell. Reginald came and went, looking sicker than ever but assuring her that they could "leave tomorrow when the roads were better,"yet he acted like his words were just empty sounds. Not that Felicity cared, for she had far worse troubles than his.

She and Lettie went to bed around nine thirty, according to the tall grandfather clock in the hall outside. Lettie wasted no time in getting to sleep, whereas Felicity lay awake in impending doom, staring at nothing in particular with her back turned to the sleeping slave girl. Her mind was whirling at tremendous speed, thinking..._re_thinking.

So she had lost Ben forever. Ben hated her, and that hurt so very much...but _she _still loved _him_. If she didn't, her heart would not ache so terribly much. She had loved him damn near her entire life, from the age of nine up until now. That love had had just continued to intensify- it just could not simply die. Not something that strong, something that had continued to live within her like a growing bon fire for so long.

She just couldn't go through with it.

To do so would be a cruel, ugly mockery of the physical love she had wanted so very much with Ben. No doubt, Tristan Forsythe would be very angry and very vengeful, most likely wanting to kill her. Felicity had no idea what to do about that. A lot of screaming, enough to wake stupid Reginald, his relatives, the servants, the dead and anyone else who lived within a mile of the place. She felt she had indeed perfected the art of the peircing scream whilst at sea.

Ben no longer loved her, Reginald was no longer a threat to her her family, so...what did she have to lose?

_Myself! _a voice in her head yelled. _You simply cannot do this! He is not a god, he is not a witch, and he cannot control your life. Do what is right, Felicity. Say NO! Then get Lettie and run away from here. There are bound to be good people in this part of England. I will be thrice damned before I allow Tristan the Devil to claim my soul, or Lettie's!_

As quiet as a mouse she slipped out from beneath the covers, into the slight chill of fresher air. her stockinged feet found her shoes precisely where she'd strategically placed them. In a matter of seconds she was at the jib door with her grey woollen cloak over her arm. She glanced over at Lette, who's back was turned toward her, breathing slow and deep.

Moving slowly still, Felicity unbolted the jib door, holding her breath. It was nearly midnight now, according to how her 'inside clock' felt. She had a frantic impulse to wake Lettie up and say, "Let's just flee, out the front door! Tristan is out back in the barn, so let's go!" But the thing that stopped her from doing that was the thing she felt she had to do.

She intended to kill Tristan Forsythe.

She had kept the knife that had been brought with her dinner that evening, slipping it into the pocket of her petticoat with a movement so fast that not even Lettie would have noticed. And she did not tell Lettie about it, either. Felicity was determined to do it herself. For Lettie to even know that she was going to kill Tristan would make the girl an accessory, and therefore punishable by death.  
No, it was better this way. 'Tis not as if she had never killed before. The two British deserters at her grandfather's plantation. _'Twas in defense of Nan and myself. I do this to save myself and Lettie. And for the common good. _She mentally ignored every moral argument that her conscience tried to bring up. Her anger and desire to be free shut her reasoning up good and tight. She slipped out into the hallway, which was almost completely dark except for a couple of wall sconces left flickering. She closed the jib door together just as quietly, fling on the grey cloak, and moved with as little sound as possible to the staircase. There she paused suddenly, a hand going to her forehead.

Whoa.

The sharp pain nearly caught her off guard, reminding her that although she had not had much to eat the past few days, she had not had very much of the powders, either. Felicity winced and gripped the stair rail with a firm hand as she continued to descend. Had to do this, had to see it through and take back control of her life. For her and Lettie.

Just as Tristan had told her, there were none of Reginald's 'night watchmen' about the house. Idly, Felicity wondered if the devilish cousin had them murdered. She hastily slipped through shadows into the small kitchen at the back of the house, and was actually surprised to find the back door unlatched. She cracked it open just a bit, and was instantly met by crisp night air.

'Twas time to face the devil.

She stood outside the door on a white shell path that led away from the house, then forked off to the left and to the right. The right path would take her to the gardens, and the left led to the big barn, plus an odd assortment of buildings that housed specialty servants and snimals smaller than horses. She did not really care what those buildings were for or whom the occupants were. Her aching head was focused as much as it could possibly be on the task at hand.

There was a lit lantern hanging from a shepard's hook post at the fork in the path, lighting the way to the barn. With each step she dreaded the confrontation more and more. Her heart was beating so fast in her ribs that she no longer felt the cold. The closer she came to the barn, the slower her stride became. it was bound to be midnight now. She saw a large crack, enough to allow a slim person through, in the wide white barn doors and soft lantern light emanating from within.

Her mouth went dry.

Just outside the doors she stopped, trying to compsoe herself, trying to collect her bravery. 'Twas awfully hard to do when one's head hurt from lack of powders! She inhaled and opened one of the doors a little wider.

"Felicity," instantly drawled the smug and victorious voice of wealthy, handsome, titled Tristan Forsythe. He might have been truly handsome if not for his evil nature. Not that Felicity felt she would have been tempted had he been a decent sort; she could appreciate a fine-looking gentleman, odf course, but her broken heart and body still belonged to a man that no longer wanted her.

Which was what was making this so hard. Part of it, anyway. She still loved Ben Davidson so much that it actually, physically _hurt_. Ben would never have anything to do with her now- hell, she was sure she would never _see _him again, yet she was about to risk her life in turning down what might have been her only chance to get home, because she still loved him too much to turn her back on that love the way _he _had.

Lord, men were so much trouble!

She met Tristan's lusty grey eyes with her steeled, hardened green ones. When she spoke, her voice was steady and clear: "Do not get excited, Tristan. I have changed my mind. I should have never given you the impression that I agreed to such an act of atrocity to begin with."

Of course, he did not take her words seriously. He merely smiled his slantwise smile, unfolded his arms, and straightened up away from the corned of a stable he had been leaning against. "Such a flirt you are, Lady Forsythe. 'Tis only natural for you to be nervous your first time. I'll try not to hurt you..._too _much."

Immediately she held up a hand. "Stop where you are, Tristan. I do not want this. I don't care if you promised to send me home by witches' magic. Nothing is worth sacrificing my dignity and self-worth for."

He _still _found her words amusing. "I see. Going to continue playing the part of the resistant hellion, eh, m'lady?"

"I said stop! Do not come any closer!" Instinctively she backed toward the barn doors, readying herself to bolt if need be. She remembered she had planned on killing him, however, and put a hand near her petticoat pocket beneath her cloak. He was still slowly advancing. "I mean it, Tristan! I don't want to have to..."

"Have to what?" he encouraged in his slippery tone. "We made a deal. I am here, showing my willingness to keep my end of the bargain. And here _you _are, your very presence proving that you are willing to keep _yours_."

"No," Felicity repeated firmly. "I was _willing _to come out here to tell you _no_. You cannot threaten me nor harm me in any way. _I _can assure you of that." And with that, she tried to quickly withdraw the knife from her petticoat pocket...but it snagged on the pocket hem, making her glance down at her dress in unexpected surprise.

And a glance away was all it took for Tristan Forsythe to lunge forward, grab one of her arms and twist it up behind her back as she yelped in shock-pain, and whip the crook of his other arm around her neck from behind. "And I _will _assure _you_, little hellion, that you _will _keep your end of the bargain!" he hissed in her ear.

Gripping her twisted arm and squeezed neck tight, he turned the both of them around. He looked for an empty stall and forced her towards it despite her squirming and sqeaks of protest. Had she been able to draw at least half a breath she would have screamed.

"I told you," he breathed hotly in her ear, "I _always _get what I want."

His arm slipped a little around her sore throat, enough for her to growl out, "I may still be in love with a man who no longer wants me, but I will _not _insult the love I had hoped for by giving myself to you!"

"Oh my pretty little dear one, you are sadly mistaken!" Tristan thrust her out from himself so that she was thrown hard into the straw on the even harder floor of the empty stall. Horses in other compartments were stamping and snorting uneasily at the loud disturbances.

Right away Felicity scrambled to get up, to pull the knife out of its pocket, but Tristan was at her, grabbing a fistful of her messed hair and pulling her up. She grimaced and clawed like mad at his clenched hand at the back of her head while groping for the knife. He used her hair to wrench her around and face him. She screeched her outrage, instinctively bringing a hand across his face in a stinging slap.

But that put him into a rage she wasn't prepared for. He back-handed her across the jaw so hard that for one fleeting second Felicity wondered if her head had been spun backwards. But the blow was a brutal one; she hit the hard stone floor of the stable, unconscious even before she collapsed.

That was all he needed. He struggled in haste to remove his thick outer coat and was reaching back behind his waist to untie the tightening-strings of his breeches when Felicity groaned groggily. Her entire head was banging and her jaw felt thick and numb. She had the sensation of continuous spinning although she was lying prone on her back. Then she felt hands; hard, frenzied hands, trying to push the layers of her petticoats and dress up.

NO!

Her body stiffened, knees locking instinctively as much as they could. Oh God, this couldn't be real, this could not be happening. Her eyes fluttered open to see Tristan kneeling over her, his face set in a determined snarl. She didn't care if both of her legs had to be broken before he could assault her, she was not going to give up without fighting. Of course he was trying to part her knees with his rough, iron-like fingers. She clenched her teeth, squirmed and tried to pummel him with her fists, but she was losing strength quickly, feeling on the verge of passing out again.

He managed to catch one of her flying fists and grip it crushingly. "Do _not _fight me!" he ordered ragefully, rearing up on his knees to strike her again, but Felicity had withdrawn the knife and attempted to stab him with the last of her strength. But oh, he was faster, grabbing the wrist that held the knofe and slamming it down upon his muscle-hard thigh, forcing her to drop it. Tears of pain welled up in her eyes.

"Scream and you will die," he commanded coldly.

"You're just going to kill me anyway!" she yelled back at him.

"Not before I get my satisfaction, hellion!"

Both of them were aware that he could not keep her pinned down and assault her at the same time, so he attempted to get both of her skinny wrists clamped down above her head with one of his larger hands so that he would have his other one to rip those skirts out of the way. He squeezed her neck again. This made her gasp and beat at his muscular arm with her one free hand. Felicity felt him trying to wrench her knees apart again, and the way her legs were shaking, he was about to finally succeed. She couldn't breathe. Her vison was coming and going, her strength was fading rapidly. She was either going to pass out or die...

Suddenly he went rigid, straddling her legs, his breath simultaneously hitching. Through eyelashes fluttering like mad to stay open, Felicity saw his eyes go wide with some kind of shock that she couldn't see. She wheezed hard as his hold on her throat eased suddenly. gaping, she saw that he'd gone stiff because there was a pitchfork in his back.  
Holding the handle of that pitchfork was a very angry, very murderous-looking Lettie.

As Felicity continued to wheeze wretchedly, Lettie grabbed a heavy wooden bucket at her feet and with both hands swung it so that it cracked the pain-frozen Tristan Forsythe in the head, knocking him off of Felicity. He hit the floor on his side with a _whump! _groaning, one hand trying weakly to grab at the pronged barn tool in his back. He suddenly convulsed and went still.

Lettie dropped the heavy bucket and extended her hand. "Get up."

Felicity was shaking like a maple leaf in a wind storm. Still wheezing, she clasped Lettie's strong dark hand with both of her weakened ashen ones, and was hauled up like a rag doll. Instantly, her quaking knees gave out and Lettie had to grab her under the arms to keep her from puddling on the floor.

"Stand up! You must stand up!" Lettie commanded.

"Le- Lettie, how d-did you know-"

"How did I know you were going to be out here to submit to him?" Lettie's eyes were dark with anger. "I overheard him threaten you while I was behind the door to the stairs. I heard all that passed between you."

Felicity struggled to remain standing on her own, to control the shake in her voice. "Then why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I had hoped you would change your mind." She almost sounded offended.

"Oh but Lettie, I did!" Felicity squeaked in tears. "I came out here to tell him that I changed my mind! That I just could not go through with it. I'm sorry-"

"_Sorry_?" Lettie was taken aback. "Why should you be sorry you could not allow him to abuse you?"

"Because I wanted to buy our freedom!"

"Foolish white woman!" the slave girl scolded, gripping Felicity firmly by the shoulders. "He would never have given you freedom of any sort, he never intended to! The first time he used me he said he was willimg to give me freedom in exchange for a night a fascinating woman of color. I told him no, that I wanted nothing from him and that I found him repulsive. But he forced himself on me anyway, and again later on. He is _not _a man of his word. To him, women of all color are his slaves!"

"I'm so sorry!" Felicity cried desperately. "Oh Lettie, can't we just run away from here, now, right this moment? It doesn't matter what direction..."

A groan issued from the young man on the stall floor. He had rolled onto his stomach. Cloe to panicking, Felicity whispered shrilly, "I have a knife! I meant to kill him tonight, but he knocked it out of my hand as we struggled!" Without thinking, she clasped her aching wrist tenderly to her chest. "It is here, somewhere..."

Lettie's voice was low and full of loathing. "I feel the same way. But killing him before fleeing..."

"What?" came Felicity's near-hysteric reply. "But if we do not-"

"If we kill him and run, then we will be hunted by men with weapons and dogs. The chase after us will be greater than merely looking for a runaway slave and her white mistress."

And no one would believe them, Felicity realized. Lettie would be put to death without question, and Felicity knew her fate would not be any better. She glanced at Lettie and saw that the dark girl was deep into the process of some major decision-making. Lettie gave thier surroundings a good look, looked down at Tristan, then met Felicity's stricken eyes with firm resolve. "But if he is not stopped, he will continue to persue us, all for his evil pleasures... Now, bring to me the lantern on that far post."

"Why? What are we going to do?" But even as Felicity asked her trembling legs were taking her to the lit lantern nearest the opposite end of the stables. The watching horses' ears twitched as she hurried along.

"Making an end to all of this," Lettie replied in her serious voiced, exotic accent as she too withdrew from its nail the flickering lantern nearest to her. "I have thought about it; the risks in fleeing will not be as great as the risks in staying. The time has come, woman." She took the lantern from Felicity. "Now, open the doors the horses' enclosures. They need to be freed as well."

Gaping, Felicity glanced at the lanterns Lettie was holding and, like magic, understood what the dark girl was planning. Lettie was going to set fire to the barn. Of course this would wake the household and the servants, but everyone would be chasing after these prized and expensive horses, for according to Reginald, some of these beauties came from other lands and were in high demand for breeding. Not that Felicity wanted to see these magnificent animals harmed or killed, but getting them rounded up would definately buy her and Lettie extra escape time. Yes! She and Lettie would make off into the night while the horses ran amok in a panic.

And Tristan Forsythe?

If he remained like he was or died from a pitchfork being stuck in his back, his body would burn up in the fire, for judging by the wrathful look Lettie was giving his still form, the slave girl intended to start the fire around or even on him.

Felicity quickly moved from stall to stall, unlatching doors and opening them wide. She even removed the halters of those who were wearing them, for that would make them even harder to catch. The idea of taking one of these horses for her and Lettie to ride swiftly away on was tremendously tempting, but her reeling mind spun out all of the reasons why she shouldn't; the horses were branded with the Forsythe 'F': if they were found with a branded horse, that would be even more trouble. A horse was hard to hide. There would be hoofprints in the damp earth leading away from the estate, tracks that appeared to be guided instead of the random wadering of a horse that got loose. They could be tracked-probably not at first, but eventually the tracks would be discovered. The less Reginald's men had to go on, the better off she and Lettie would be!

And as for their own footprints, Felicity reckoned they would just blend in with all the other footprints there would be from people chasing down the horses. The horses moved out of their stalls uneasily, wide-eyed and twitchy-eared, unsure of what to do. Horses were smart; they knew when something was going on, or about to happen. Penny was that way. Felicity staggered back to Lettie, her head pounding as wildly as her heart was, her jaw aching just as much.

"N-Now what?"

"Did he...hurt you...in _that _way?"

A wave of nausea passed through her. "No. Almost, but no."

"Then can you run?"

"Like the wind," Felicity breathed in a fast reply, as assuredly as she could, for her knees were incredibly sore and shaking. She felt as though her head and limbs consisted of dry leaves ready to wither away to ashes.

"Good. Then prepare to run." Lettie's dark angry eyes swept over Tristan Forsythe, still laying face down in the straw, then she swiftly strode to the stack of hay bales along the wall just inside the left barn door, sat the lanterns down, and with a strength she seemed too slender to possess, pushed the bale stack over, sending them tumbling off of one another. with fast movement and angry hands, she grabbed up and strew hay all over the place. The dry stuff would ignite like lightning.

Felicity glanced down at Tristan, her expression unreadable. All of her life she'd been told how evil it was to hate. The Scriptures even said to 'love thine enemies.' All of her life she'd tried to abide by the Scriptures, the Bruton Parish preacher, her parents and her own moral conscience. But for the past few months it seemed to her that all she had done was hate. Hate Reginald, hate his servants, hate Tristan, hate Ben Davidson, hate anything and everything, even hating herself for being so weak even after the man she loved more than anything in life abandoned her. She likened herself to a big army cannon about to go off. Staring down at Tristan now, she felt no remorse for hating him. Not after what he had done to Lettie. Not after what he nearly did to _her_.

And neither was she having second thoughts about what was going to happen to _him_.

Lettie's job of strewing straw around couldn't be any more effective. Not where creating a fire was concerned. She took the glass top off of one of the lanterns, then gazed up at Felicity. "Are you ready?"

"Yes!"

"Good . I will light the fire on this end. Then we will open the doors of the other end, and I will light the straw down there after the animals run out. The building will go up fast." Lettie's dark eyes fell onto Tristan Forsythe. "As will he."

Felicity nodded her seemingly-bloodthirsty agreement.

Lettie rose, turned to the largest hay clump in fromt of the now-closed doors on their end, and tossed the uncovered lantern bottom inot the clumps. There was an instant _whoosh_, a briliant blaze of light, then fire took to the straw almost greedeily, running to one of the doors and the wall beside of it.

"Go! Now!' Lewttie hissed.

Felicity didn't need to be told twice. She whirled, jogging for the other end of the barn where the horses were clustered nervously, prancing and tossing their heads. It showed in their eyes they were quickly becoming fearful of the smoke and flames at the other end of the stables. Felicity had heard Lettie just behind her, when suddenly there was a gasp; she looked back and saw that Tristan had not only moved, but he was getting up fast, having caught Lettie by an arm.

Uttering s surprised yelp, Felicity acted without thinking. She started back to Lettie with every intention of throwing herself at Tristan to knock him down, but the lithe, athletic young lord whipped the knife that he had knocked out of Felicity's hand to Lettie's throat from behind, twisting the dark girl's arm behind her back like he had Felicity's earlier. All minus the pitchfork in his back. It had not been so deeply embedded in him after all. A gash in the upper left corner of his forehead from Lettie's bucket-blow was bleeding down that side of his face despite his mussed white-blond hair matted to it.

"Bitches from hell!" he cursed at them, his eyes crazed with rage. "I'll bloody kill the both of you!"

"No, don't!" Felicity cried out immediately, fearing the blade so close to sinking into Lettie's throat. "You want _me_, not Lettie! **I **am the one who misled you!"

The fire was rapidly spreading up both doors, above the doors, the rafters at that end of the roof. People would be running and shouting any moment now.

"Oh no, hellion, I ma going to make the both of you suffer!"

"Run!" Lettie growled urgently at her despite Tristan's grip on her. "Go wiothout me! Go!"

"I will _not _leave without you, Lettie!" Felicity shouted determinedly over the crackling of the fire and the now frantic whinying of the horses.

"Well that is just so idiotically _sweet_!" Tristan snapped, his eyelashes fluttering as though he was having trouble stayng awake. "I'm going to just finish the two of you _now_!" Obviously he meant to slice Lettie's throat right then and there, but he wavered uncontrollably, whether it was from blood-loss, having had a pitchfork stuck in his back or having been struck by a heavy wooden bucket, Felicity didn't care. She saw him begin to sway dangerously...

...which was just enough of a distraction for her to lunge forward and grab Lettie away from him as he dropped to his knees. But he grabbed ahold of Lettie's nearest ankle, causing her to fall. The force of her falling had pushed Felicity forward so that the horrified red-head was clear of the burning rafter that fell between her and Lettie, flaming brilliantly. The place was quickly filling with smoke, burning eyes and filling lungs. Behind Felicity, the horses were panicking furiously now, wanting to get out desperately. Felicity coughed and tried to find a way around the flaming, crackling, fallen rafter that lay at an unencouraging angle between her and Lettie. Fire was spreading from it to the stables, which were beginning to go up all too fast.

"Come on!" Felicity screamed as she watched Lettie try to get to her feet while coughing, too. Tristan Forsythe was unconscious again. Or dead. It didn't matter, for neither young woman was about to try and help him in any way. "Jump over!"

Lettie coughed and clenched her teeth. "The flames are too high! You must get the animals out before they burn! You must go!"

"I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU!" Felicity screamed in panic. Her smoke-dried eyes frantically looked for a way Lettie could get around, over or under the obscenely angled length of wood that blocked the aisle between the flaming stalls. The heat was outrageous. "Lettie, jump!"

But Lettie was suddenly very still, gazing at Felicity in thought. "Here!' she yelled, and she picked up the knife that had been held to her throat and tossed it over the flames between her and Felicity. It fell at Felicity's feet. "Take this and go! I cannot go with you."

"WHAT? No, there is a way! Just jump, and if you catch fire we will beat it out!"

Lettie gazed at her steadily. "No. But perhaps we will meet again...Felicity."

Insane panic clogged her throat more than the smoke was. "LETTIE...!"

"My _name _is Lalamika," the dark girl said with smouldering pride that burned brighter than the eighty-percent of the barn that was aflame. "It means _pray for mercy_. Let it spoken by no other white."

Felicity shook her head _no _by way of reply, but she was crying now. "I promised you I would not leave here without you and I meant it!"

"I know. But I now release you from that promise. Go!"

"NO!"

Lettie-Lalamika in truth, was backing _away _from the fiery obstacle, back toward the worst of the fire, unafraid, proud...frighteningly proud. "Go. Do not look back."

The horses were rearing aginst the doors of the opposite end of the barn. They were panicking blindly now, whinying and pounding the door with their hooves. They needed to get out. Felicity's teary green eyes met Lettie's dark, mysterious ones one last time, pleading, but the slave girl would not budge. They stared at each other only an instant, mutual respect and the bond of sisterhood, then Felicity whirled and ran like mad to the opposite end of the barn that was just beginning to go up, brushing past the horses and their dangerous rearing. With trembling hands that felt like they were made of cotton, she unlatched the doors and swung them wide open. She did not look back.

The horses were out in a hurry, tossing their heads, flaring their nostrills to get their noses full of fresh, winter air as they did indeed scatter, trotting in all directions. And indeed there were frantic voices, coming from the manor, but the souces of those voices were not yet to the blazing barn. Felicity ran. She just ran. Not to the manor, God, no. That would not only be plain stupid, but an insult to everything Lettie had done for her and sacrificed. It would be suicide.

And she ran. She had no idea where she was going. She was only vauguely aware that she would eventually come to a fence, for she had seen the tall wrought iron lengths enclosing the gardens when she had been out with Reginald. But there were gates, for livestock was turned out into the hilly pastures to graze, and they had to have gone through gates. Those gates were probably locked. But her and Lettie's plan had been to climb a certain tree in the garden and drop over the tall fence by hanging off one of the braches that over hung that fence. Like a maniac, Felicity made for the garden.

She still did not look back.

Oh there were plenty of people out and about now. All attention was on the barn, however. The completely lit structure, what was left of it, anyway, stood out against the black night like a miniature sun. But Felicity ran on into the garden, knowing exactly where that gnarled tree was and determined that nothing should get in her way. If she came across Reginald this moment she would pound his balding head into the mud with her own bare hands! But that would not be likely. All focus was on the burning barn and getting water to put out as much of the fire as could be.

She found the tree, hiked up her skirts, and began climbing in haste. She did not feel the cold of the thirty-some degree winter's night; she was too full of adrenaline. She could still feel the heat of the flames in the barn on her skin, still tried to stifle her coughing from inhaling the smoke. The tree had rough bark that her hands could not slip off of easily, which despite the cold was a good thing: she was shaking badly from head to toe. The tree also had good climbing branches. It's gnarled knobs and twisty arms made for easy grabbing. It also helped that Felicity was a good climber. Trees and rooftops. Her childhood playthings.

When she was straddling the gnarly branch that went out over the six-foot wrought-iron fence she refused to slow down. She refused to stop and take a breath. She scooted out over the fence on the branch, then did as she and Lettie had planned; she dangled from it, collected herself, then let go, dropping to the ground on the other side. She landed on feet so shakily that she continued on to her butt. But she was not hurt. Adrenaline was still rushing thorugh her.

She was free.

_Still _she did not look back. She did not wait to listen for anyone moving about. She did not think at all. She just ran. Unknowing of what direction she was going in or what lay ahead of her in the near blackness. She ran for her life. She ran for Lettie's life. She ran faster than she had ever run in her life.

After all, what was freedom if one did not seize it?

* * *

_Snow can wait, I forgot my mittens  
Wipe my nose, get my new boots on  
I get a little warm in my heart when I think of winter  
I put my hand in my father's glove  
I run off where the drifts get deeper  
Sleeping beauty trips me with a frown  
I hear a voice, "You must learn to stand up for yourself, cause I can't always be around"  
He says, "When you gonna make up your mind?  
When you gonna love you as much as I do?  
When you gonna make up your mind?  
Cause things are gonna change so fast  
All the white horses are still in bed  
I tell you that I always want you near"  
You say that things change, my dear._

lines from 'Winter' by Tori Amos.


	15. Chapter 15: Withdrawals

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE Pt3, Ch.15: Withdrawals

She ran until her lungs were burning and her chest hurt. She couldn't breathe with her mouth shut and her very own pulse was banging in her ears. The headache that had begun earlier as a result of lack of powders was coming back full force. She _had _to slow down whether she wanted to or not, if only to catch her breath and try to think. But Felicity Merriman did not want to think. The fear of being overcome by emotion; terror, anger, sadness, the whole gamut of human feelings would crush her, she would go numb from the weight of it all and just go _mad_. Now was not the time to go mad.

Instinct just screamed at her to run until she dropped, wherever that might be.

The ground beneath her feet would rise, letting her know that she was going uphill. Several times she stumbled, tripped or fell, but regained her footing and got back up each time. The insane fear that she was being pursued kept her fleeing, when in reality she was not being chased at all. But she was unconvinced of that. Now that she was out of Forsythe Manor she was damned determined not to go back. Ever. Enough of that.

There were times when she would run blindly into something, like bushy hedges, which she would just backup and try to jump over or plow through, and waist-high stone barriers, which she would have to climb, banging knees and shins alike. Several times her petticoats ripped but she did not care. Nothing meant more than getting as far away from Forsythe Manor as possible.

It was what Lettie wanted.

Eventually, after having been at a run at different speeds for what felt like hours (in reality only two), she _had _to stop, _had _to sit down, had to _breathe _and get ahold of her mind somehow. Her sore feet just couldn't go any further. Apparently she was on a hillside dotted with rocks of assorted sizes. She sat down on one of those and could feel the coldness of it beneath her her petticoats and dress. But her adrenaline had not yet worn off. The cold was not yet affecting her other than making her chest hurt when she wheezed. She gripped her knees with her trembling hands as her sides heaved from exertion. Her wilde, wild eyes stared at the black ground, seeing only the night that surrounded her.

Damn how her head hurt!

She absently felt the knife that Lettie had thrown to her over the fire in her pocket. What good would that do her now? She considered taking it and throwing it, then changed her mind. She was all alone, in England, in the dark, without a clue as to what to do or where to go. Could she actually relay on the kindness of strangers? Her fear screamed _no_. She clasped her head in both hands for a moment, trying to think, trying to focus, but now her head hurt more than anything else, physically. Oh, this was bad. This was happening all to fast.

She had to keep going. This was no time to sit idle. She was most likely being missed at the manor by now, _very _likely being hunted now, so sitting on a rock in the middle of a hillside-field was not the best idea, in her opinion. She remembered her grey woollen cloak had a hood, so she put it on. She stumbled but continued.

Damned if the country outside of Bristol wasn't the hilliest place _ever_!

Eventually the ground beneath her even out. She kept her arms moving out in front and to her sides in an awkward attemp to keep herself from running into or colliding with anything else besides hedges and rock fences. The sky above her had cleared and was now full of magnificent stars, not that she possessed the mind to see them. She sensed something close, something dense, and feeling around discovered tree bark. Pine needles. She had come into woods of some sort. She briefly recalled seeing forested hillsides and patches of thick trees on the landscape around the manor and around Bristol. Fine. She was in the woods. That meant she was hidden from view. Not that anyone was after her at the moment.

Exhaustion was suddenly irresistable. It couldn't be long until morning, not now. When the sun came up she would...she had no idea what she would do. Her head was throbbing mercilessly. It hurt to think. In fact, it hurt to continue standing. She swallowed despite a dry mouth and stumbled into the low pine boughs she's felt around her moments earlier, pushed them aside carelessly. Instict told her to lay down. It would not be long til morning. Maybe she would feel better, just enough to think clearly and figure something out, figure out what to do. As she assumed, it was dry around the pine tree trunk. Dry and carpeted with pine needles.

The memory of playing hide-and-seek with Nan and William under the thick, ground-sweeping branches of pine trees flickered through her mind even as she sank to the base of the tree. She pulled her hood around her face as much as it would go, gathered the woollen cloak about her as much as it would go, and curled up, flattening her ripped skirts and petticoats around her legs tightly. Thank the Lord her dress was made of heavy fabric for winter. She could finally feel the sting of cold, but it was not bad. Not right now, anyway. She pulled the cloak tight and laid her head upon pine needles.  
A wave of relenting submission crashed over her and she fell asleep before she could give much thought to anything else.

* * *

Felicity Merriman did not dream, not as far as she knew, anyway. She twitiched and jerked under the pine tree where she lay, then eventually jerking herself awake. It was no longer completely dark. The world was slate grey and foggy. At last winter's chill had caught up with her and she was shivering. Time to get up, time to move.

She sat up and was immediatey struck with her headache. Her vision swam and she was shaking not just from cold, but from lack of powders. And on top of that, she was nauseous. Incredibly, she felt the very same way she did the first time she'd ever had the powders, only now 'twas because a lack of them! Her body felt so absolutely empty, like she was made of nothing more than air, but her head was splitting with pain! Her hair had completely come loose from its pinnings, wadded about her face underneath the woollen hood. But she had to get up and move or sit there and freeze to death. They would be looking for her now, if they were not already. Yes, no matter how horrible she was feeling, she had to go. There had to be some decent folks around here who would help her.

Had to be.

She struggled to her feet, wavering, groaning, clutching her head. Felicity pushed out of the pine branches and wiped her blurred eyes, but that did little to help her vision. There weemed to ba a cannonball in her head wanting very much to burst! But she was determined to go, to put more distance between herself and Forsythe Manor. There was no sun, but fog and grey light. Still, she squinted. She staggered out into the fog in no particular direction, winding among the trees, trying feeblily not to trip over anything. There seemed to be a clearing ahead, so she ambled toward it, having no plan at all if she should encounter...whatever.

When Felicity emerged from the woods, she saw yet another hillside field, half hidden in the mists. Warily, she felt she she had no choice but to go up it and see what was on the other side. Hopefully there would be a house. Good God, didn't these pstures have farmers that kept them? Oh, her head hurt so bad she wanted to scream. At the top of the hillside was-what else?- a barrier made of rocks and stone. She sat down on it, tried not to cry from her head banging, swung her legs over it then slipped off onto the damp ground. 'Twas fortunate that the hard rock fence was there, for it gave her something to assist in getting herself back up with. Her vision swam like mad still. And now she had to go back _down _hill!

Felicity did not trust her own eyesight. Not feeling like this. She thought she saw rooftops. Could've _sworn _she saw rooftops. Wasn't possible, was it? With a hand to her forehead, she staggered along, very close to just dropping and rolling (after all, 'twould get her to the bottom of the hillside much faster) Her mind was spinning, she couldn't focus, couldn't see clearly. Didn't want to. Her hand clamped over eyes for just a second, and then she ran right into something about thigh-high and fell over it. Thunk!

Felicity felt as if fireworks were literally going off in her head, complete with lights, boomings, and rattlings. She uttered a helpless whimper without even realizing that she had made a sound at all. Now her arms and legs felt utterly boneless. She did understand that she had just fallen over something, and blinked weakly around at what the something was.

Hell fire and damnation. She had just fallen over a sheep.

The young, fluffy ovine hadn't even run away. It just stared at her with its soft brown eyes and bar-like pupils. Apparently, it was used to humans. And apparently, it was not alone. Following the swimming motion of her head, she saw other four-footed fluffly clouds dotting the hillside as far as the fog would let her see. For a moment, Felicity just blinked and let her vision dip and blurr as it pleased. And then it occurred to her, in her powder-addicted brain, that these sheep might not be real. Maybe she had just fallen over an imaginary sheep. Now the sloping hillside was full of imaginary sheep! Good Lord, they even made imaginary sheep-sounds!

_Maybe these sheep are Forsythe-sheep! _she worried deliriously. _Maybe I have just gone in a big cirlce and now I'm back on the manor grounds among the sheep! I cannot trust my own whereabouts! Or am I even anywhere at all? Best get up and run some more._

Much to her surprise, one of the sheep wandered up to her and sniffed her. In fact, several balls of cotton were moving towards her. But in Felicity's state of mind, combined with a killer headache, she believed them to be imaginary. She struggled to get up off the cold damp ground by grabbing ahold of one cottony ewe and instantly clutched her head. This had to mean she was going to die. How could anything hurt so bad in a person and yet they lived!

Oh God. What was that she was hearing _now_? Horse hooves on the grass? Coming closer? Surely they could not be coming from inside her head, too! Her breathing began to accelerate, the pounding in her head keeping tempo just as furiously. Coming from the top of the hill, behind her. A gutteral groan escaped her throat and she ran, blindly, just running, breathing loud, nearly crying. If it was indeed a horse, then the horse had a rider. and that rider was most likely one of Reginald Forsythe's men!

_I will NOT go back! I won't I won't I wont! They will have to kill me first! But I think that my head shall crack open and kill me before THEY can. This has got to end! I can't take it anymore! I can't! It hurts so much! Yes, 'tis time now!_

"You there!" a man's voice called, as a white horse emerged out of the fog, its rider clad in a dark hat, long cloak and shiny riding boots. Felicity shrieked uncontrollably and ran. In her petticoat pocket she felt the knife meant to kill Tristan Forsythe with, and fumbled for it. She was going to end this once and for all. Like she should have done from the very start of this whole nightmare. She would end this being chased constantly, having her life and innocence threatened every damn day, battling hate and sorrow and this wretched, cannonballing headache!

"Stop!" hollored the man as Felicity whirled around to face him, knife in hand, eyes wild with pain and fear.

"Don't come near me!" she screamed, her stance like that of a demented young witch about to flee or attack, either one. "I know who you are and why you're here! I won't go back! Never! I'll roast in hell before I go back!"

And with the knife, she sliced into her own wrist .

* * *

Lord Eric Covington, second Duke of Belhastings, was out for his usual morning ride along the edges of his grand estate. 'Twas more for his peace of mind than his daily tour of seeing that all was well. even on misty, crisp mornings like this, a lone ride was his own version of a meditative start to the day. And every morning for the past three and a half years, he meditated on only one thing: his beloved late wife Evangeline. She had loved riding, had said she felt very close to God when she was riding. The duke found this to be very agreeable. He found he felt very close to his wife when he was out riding.

And every morning as he had done for the past three and a half years since Evangeline's untimely death in childbirth, he mentally asked her _What would you have me do today, my darling? What business would you have me attend to first? How would you have me handle it? _And most of the time he would return to Bel Hall with his answers, solutions, or better understandings of whatever issues needed attention, because he felt that Evangeline's spirit had guided him to the right courses.

The duke was not a hard man, but a thoughtful one. A quiet sort, slow to upset, soft-spoken and keeping mostly to himself. His age put him at thirty-two, but since his wife's passing he had been feeling all of eighty-two. He was a well-built gentleman, reasonably handsome, even described as _dashing _by the gossips of local society. His hair was dark brown and well-groomed beneath the aristocratic tricorn he wore, his eyes a deep dark blue- the kind of eyes that sparkled when he wore his boyish smile, but that sparkle had not been seen much at all in the past three and a half years. Nor the boyish smile. There had been precious little to smile about. His only living child was living with Evangeline's family in Bath. Aside from the loyal staff of his houselhold and the good people who worked his land he was alone and isolated in life.

Another question he asked his deceased beloved every morning was _What curiosities are you sending my way today, darling? _Sometimes his answer would come in the form of her voice in his mind, sometimes it would come in the form of something someone else said.

But today the answer came in the form of a staggering, weeping young girl about to take a tumble down the hillside that his sheep had been turned out on.

From a distance he had seen her run into and then fall right over one of his ewes. She couldn't be a sheep-thief if she could not see one standing still right in front of her! The hood of the dirty cloak she was wearing had fallen back to reveal a head of deep red hair. The girl clutched at her head as though she was ill. In fact, she moved and wailed like she was very striken with something indeed. The girl's skirts were ripped, too. Something was very wrong with the willowy thing.

"You there!" he called, turning his white mount toward the wavering, thin figure that shrieked when she saw him and began running in the opposite direction. She obviously did not know where in the world she was going. Even as she stumbled and nearly fell time and time again, she was groping for something ina pocket underneath her cloak.

"Stop!" the duke yelled, pulling the white horse, named Perks (because of the stallion's constant alertness), up short just as the frightened girl whirled about to face him. In her trembling right hand she waved a knife dangerously. Wild green eyes glazed over with mindless fear met his dark blue ones as he stared at the poor little thing, so obviously ill.

"Don't come near me!" the girl screamed at him in a voice that was not english-accented. American, perhaps? "I know who you are and why you're here! I won't go back! Never! I'll roast in hell before I go back!"

And where on earth did the terrified figure come from? Bedlam? Couldn't have. New Bethlem Mental Hospital was miles and miles away in London. She didn't look like anyone from around here, nor like any mere house servant he'd ever seen. If her dress was clean, it would be a lady's day dress. Maids did not wear day dresses. A curiosity indeed!

He sensed something desperate in the way the girl held the knife. She was quite possibly going to harm herself, because she certainly was in no condition to attack _him_, not that he was getting the feeling she would. In concern for her he began to dismount, but she took that as a sign of impending doo, and sliced her own wrist with alarming accuracy and swiftness.

"No!" she cried out, too terrified to feel the pain she was inflicting upon herself. She backed away from him, wild-eyed and felly intent on not being stopped. The knife switched hands and she proceeded to slice into the other wrist, the blood welling up fast and spilling in streams, dripping onto the grass. She sobbed, dropping the knife, only then realizing what she had just done to herself, and that it hurt very much. Even as Lord Eric Covington advanced she screamed, wavered, then collapsed in a heap just as he got to her, catching her in arms that were as firm as oak branches. But Felicity Merriman wasn't conscious to know that. The combination of everything she had endured in the past three months had finally caught up with her, not to mention the physical afflictions she was under.

The duke lowered her quickly onto the grass and pulledl at his own shirt in haste, yanking handfuls of it out of the of his dark breeches beneath his waistcoat. Without thinking he tore at the rich cotton linen, making strips of his shirt tails, then grabbing each of the girl's bleeding wrists to bind them as fast as he could. She hadn't lost too much blood as a result of her actions, but she needed tending to right away. Getting her back to Bel Hall would take too long, so the best course of action would be to get her to the nearest house, which would be the cottage of Squire Babcock just around the next hill. The Squire's wife was good with wounds...when it came to sheep, anyway. Surely this strange girl's bony wrists could be mended without much more delay.

'Twas not difficult for the duke to get himself and the girl upon Perks. Routine physical activity kept the man in good condition, and Felicity weighed practically little in his grip. He urged Perks into a canter and headed for the cart path at the bottom of the hill. It would take him around the bend and directly to the Babcock house.

_My goodness, Eve darling, you certainly know how to make things interesting, even now!_ Lord Covington thought, feeling both bewildered and fascinated. Who was this girl and why was she so stricken? How on earth did she end up here, on his estate, in such a condition? _So, my love, you have a sent a mystery unto me, eh? I suppose there is a meaning behind all of this? _And in his mind it seemed as though his precious Evangeline was smiling down upon him mysteriously from the Heavens.

Eve always did love a mystery.

* * *

"Mercy me!' exclaimed the rotund, normally pleasant faced Babcock when she opened her cottage door to the Duke of Belhastings...with an unconscious red-headed girl in his arms. As soon as she curtsied she saw blood drips on the girl's gown and gaped, even as she stepped back to allow the duke in with his unusual package. "My Lord! What is this?"

"I'm not sure, Mrs. Babcock. I found her up where the sheep are turned out. Her wounds need immediate attention. Mrs. Babcock!"

"Goodness gracious!" The pink-cheeked, brunette woman of about forty exclaimed. "Is she a sheep-thief, m'lord? Did ye have to shoot her?"

"Nay, Mrs. Babcock!" The duke hefted the girl in his arms awkwardly. "is there somewhere here I can..."

"Oh! Oh, yes, m'lord! Do come this way." Snapping out of her surprise, Mrs. babcock bustled her way past the duke, gesturing urgently, forgetting that she had left the door half-open. Lord Covington followed, taking care not to bang Felicity's head or ankles into the walls of the passage into the bedchambers. From outside there was the sound of rambunctious children already at play, most likely the Babcock's son and daughters. 'Twas a blessed relief that the fiesty youngsters were not inside to be underfoot and crowding around.

The Babcocks were a pleasant lot, decent country folks who delighted in working their land, attending church, their neighbors in the nearby village, and in themselves, even if they were a bit...eccentric. Evangeline had adored the Babcock children, and whatever Evangeline found to be good and worthwhile the duke, too, found it to be the same. Squire Babcock was a funny, full-bellied fellow who fancied himself to be the duke's closest of friends, and therefore a man worthy of rank, but the duke did not mind this. It was actually quite amusing, back when he found things amusing. Squire Babcock loved his dinner and his ale, then to sit around with a full pipe and tell stories to those who would listen about the adventures of his youth, most of which were greatly exaggerated or too impossible to be true. Yet one could not help but be drawn into the fun by the way he told his tales. 'Twas like he was merely a large child.

At one time, the duke's son Thomas had come to play daily with the Babcock children here. That had been three years ago. Felt like decades to Lord Covington, who felt as though every day since his wife's passing was a year lost.

Mrs. Babcock ushered the duke and his strange parcel into a room belonging to the three daughters. There were three beds, the largest of which belonged to the eldest girl, near the room's wide window. She flipped down the quilt and sheets and stepped back. "She can use Marvel-Anne's bed, m'lord. I sincerely doubt Marvel-Anne will compl;ain of having to share with one of her sisters on cold nights like we're having."

"Thank you, Mrs. Babcock." Gently, Lord Covington laid the still unconscious Felicity down on the soft bed and immediately took each of her wrists in turn to inspect them. He had bound each one tight, hoping to stanch the bleeding, but apparently the cuts were deep, for the undrside of the wrappings had quickly reddened. Behind him, Mrs. Babcock gasped softly. He turned around to her. "You are good with wounds, dear lady. Can you help this girl on my behalf?"

"Certainly!" Mrs. Babcock replied right away, going for the door. She paused only briefly to inquire, "Shall I have one of the children fetch the doctor for you?"

Lord Covington looked back down at Felicity, contemplating. This obviously ill young woman had cried something about "not wanting to go back," and preferring to "roast in hell" before she ever went back. She had said she knew who he was and why he was there. But she did _not _know who he was, for her terrified delirium made her believe he was someone who would be chasing her. Why did she think she was being chased? What was so horrible about where she had run from that she would rather be dead than return to? The duke furrowed his brow, thinking. He certainly wasn't going to get any answers just standing there staring down at her! She needed help.

"My Lord?" asked Mrs. Babcock at the bedchamber door.

"Is your husband about, Madame?'

"Oh nay, m'lord, 'e went into the village to see about purchasing a new spade. You know, for whacking moles with." She smiled good-naturedly. " 'Tis mostly what 'e does these days, lure the nasty lil' things up out of their holes so that 'e can take his tools and whack-whack-whack them over their lil' heads-"

"Mrs. Babcock," the duke interjected gently, his patience trying not to thin with it still being morning, "our young guest here needs medical attention. I trust your skills in wound care are sufficient enough to help her. I am further trusting that we will learn more about her before we consult outside help. Would you not agree?"

"Oh yes indeed, m'lord," agreed Mrs. Babcock readily. "I shall fetch my things and attend to her right away."

"Thank you, Mrs. Babcock." He turned back to the red-head lying still on the bed. He knew how to feel for a pulse and did so, at the soft spot under her jaw near the ear. There was one, weak, but present. He went so far as to untie her cloak at the throat and open it. She was thin and so very pale. "Who are you, young Miss?" the duke inquired, mostly to himself, as he inspected Felicity's pixie-face for signs of abuse. "Why do you suppose Evangeline has sent you to me, hmm?"

There was the sound of four sets of clomping, adolescent feet, and there appeared in the doorway a blond girl of about ten, beside her an equally blonde girl of seven, both gaping quietly at their neighbor, the duke, bending over a strange young woman in one of their beds. The woman had blood on her dress and on the wraps around her wrists, and was clearly not awake. The duke turned his head and smiled at them politely. "Good morning, little ladies."

"Good morning, my lord," the two girls said in unison, curtsying as if they were repeating lessons. 'Twas not as if the duke was a stranger to them, but they had been taught to show respect for the upper class, and Mother would skin them like little conies if they dare forget their manners. They had come into the cottage to find their mother hurrying about, gathering her medicinal things so that she could "help the wounded young lady The duke brought to them," and that they should "stay out of their room until she was fjnished assisting the duke."

So naturally, they had to come see what the fuss was about.

"Who is _that_?" inquired the eldest of the two girls, Marvel-Anne, who had big brown eyes full of innocent but energetic curiosity. "Is she a princess?" Marvel-Anne was enamoured of princesses. She had decided to become one when she grew up.

"Nay, dear-one," the duke smiled softly. "At least I do not think so. I have nary a clue as to who she is. She will have to tell us when she wakes up."

"Is she dead?" asked the younger sister, her wide brown eyes just as full of wonder as her older sister's. But unlike Marvel-Anne, she found blood and things of physick to be grossly fascinating. "Or has she been bled?"

"Poppy! Marvel-Anne!" scolded Mrs. Babcock as she pushed past them with a basin of hot water held to her roundy stomach with one hand and a box the children were very familiar with as "Mother's Box of Physick" held to herself with her other hand. "Do get out of the way! Go back outside and watch over your brother and sister. They'll fall right down into the well out of spite if you don't!"

"But Mama," said little Poppy Babcock, craning her neck and hopping up and down to try to get a better view of the unconscious stranger around the bulk of the grown-ups, "Rex and Pudding only want to tease the goat. I don't want to tease the goat. He gets angry."

"Oh rubbish! If the goat gets mad and butts you, then you've earned it! And put your capes back on, it isn't spring!"

"Yes, Mama," the girls sang in unison, both with a disappointed sigh. But they loved visitors, especially mysterious ones! 'Twas rare to get a mysterious visitor these days! Couldn't Mother see that?With tremendous reluctance, the two sisters left the doorway, although Marvel-Anne suggested they try taking peeks through their bedroom window from the outside. Poppy found this a good plan.

Meanwhile, with the duke watching , Mrs. Babcock cleaned Felicity's slashed wrists, commenting that the girl had been well on her way to bleed to death and 'twas a good thing that he brought her here when he did. She stitched the cuts up as best she could, which was certainly better than any doctor's work the duke had ever seen, and he told her so, much to the delight of the Squire's giddy wife. Of course, the stitiched gashes were a disturbing sight, not too pleasant to look at, but that could be temporarily remedied with wraps of clean linen. The duke exited the room while Mrs. Babcock removed Felicity's clothes, leaving her clad in only her shift, and pulled the covers up over the girl's chest. The tangled red tresses would have to be combed out once she woke, but it was hard to tell when that would be, for Felicity was sleeping so heavily that not even the stitching together of her sliced wrists stirred her.

But she dreamed. Oh, how she dreamed. She dreamed of being chased by something dark and frightneing to look at, and no matter how hard she tried to make her legs move they would not do as she wanted them to. And she dreamed of Ben, who did not love her anymore, which was a nightmare unto itself, and she dreamed about Tristan Forsythe attacking her. The latter dream had her tossing and turning, screaming herself awake with wild eyes and sore hands clenching fisfuls of bedsheet. It had to be late that afternnon that the duke brought her to the Babcock cottage. The duke was still there, hoping that his mysterious charge would wake before he had to get back to Bel Hall for the evening, and had just dined with the Babcocks when the terrible shrieking began.  
"Lord have mercy!" exclaimed Squire Babcock, who had just lit his after-dinner pipe and was just about to light into a tale of outrageous boyhood pranks as well.

The five-year-old daughter, Pudding, began to cry, slapping her hands over her little ears. The only son, Rex, who was six, jumped up and down excitedly. Poppy and Marvel-Anne jumped up from their sewing lessons to follow the hurrying grown-ups to their bedchamber where their unidentified 'guest' was shrieking so loud they believed the donkey might start braying out in the barn any moment.  
Indeed Felicity Merriman had awoke, but she simply wasn't herself The powders were still exiting her system, and her system wanted them back, wanted more to make the wretched headache go away. So she woke with the same hellish headache she'd had on the hillside earlier, when the duke found her. But she was not aware that she'd been found, much less who had found her and that she was currently safe. Her frenzied green eyes stared out at nothing in particular. She clutched her head head with hands that seemed awfully sore to move, for some reason. She shook and shivered despite a fire in the cozy cottage bedchamber's little fireplace.

Mrs. Unguin Babcock reached her first, sitting down beside her to grasp her by the shoulders and soothe her to be quiet in a most motherly way, for mothers were very good at that sort of thing. But Felicity had no awareness about her at all. She stared hysterically at something only she could see, absorbed in horrible pain only she could feel. Even as Mrs. Babcock "Shhh"ed and "There-there now"ed her with a firm but gentle voice, she moaned and yelled how her head hurt, how her body felt as if were going to burst, and that she pleasepleaseplease needed the powders to make it all stop.

"Shouldn't ye get the doctor _now_, m'lord?" Squire Babcock asked nervously, his pipe having fallen right out of his mouth somewhere along the way to his daughters' bedchamber. "She seems a bit...stricken."

"Let us wait," the duke replied, watching the squire's wife ease the terrified girl back down onto the pillow. "If we get the doctor, he might want to investigate her situation- which he would do with good intentions, of course, but I sense there is something to be revealed here that perhaps we should not be hasty about until she can speak coherently."

"Good advice, m'lord," agreed the squire with a vigorous nod. But even if the duke had recommend the town sherrif be fetched immediately, Rufus Babcock would have found that to be good counsel as well. The squire knew not what to make of the situation at all, just that his good neighbor, the duke, had found an ill young woman wandering about his property and brought her here to be seen after. Not that he minded, but he tended to rely on the judegements of others rather than his own. It made being married to temperamental wife much easier.

Mrs. Babcock looked up at the duke. "What d'ye suppose she means by 'the powders'? Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

As a matter of fact, the duke had. He scratched his chin thoughtfully as Felicity continued to toss and turn woefully on the bed, moaning of her head. He inhaled slowly. "There was a time, not long after Thomas was born, that Evangeline..._miscarried_." A lump of emotion rose in his throat that he had to force back down. "The doctor in the villiage then, , he had given her some white powders in a vial to take for pain. He had said that they were being used quite successfully in London, and that they should help her recover. But my wife found them addicting. I took them from her and she was sick for a time after that without them, but she _did _recover..." _Until she tried to give birth again, _he thought angstfully. "Perhaps the girl has been given such a medication that she is now without."

The squire blinked curiously at Felicity. "D'ye suppose she's a criminal of sorts?"

The duke sighed. "My sense of reason seems to be thinking no, but rather a _victim _of sorts, my good man. If she is truly being pursued by someone, as she believed herself to be when I discovered her, then we should have the whole story before any authorities are contacted. I shall claim temporary responsiblity for her, Mr. Babcock. 'Tis never a good idea to jump to conclusions before you know the story." He spared the squire a slight grin. "Something I am sure you are quite aware of yourself, being an expert storyteller."

"Indeed, m'lord!" agreed Mr. Babcock, with flushed cheeks.

"So she might truly be a princess, after all!" whispered Marvel-Anne at the doorway to her siblings. "Perhaps she escaped from an evil lord with an awful goatee because 'e wanted to marry 'er, but she is really in love with a prince!"

"So why didn' the prince rescue 'er?" Poppy asked, feeling cheated out of a good story somehow.

"Maybe 'e did! Maybe it is the duke!"

"The duke is a _duke_," said Poppy, thinking Marvel-Anne a nitwit. " 'e cannot be a prince _and _a duke at the same time."

"Yes 'e can! 'Tis possible!"

" 'Tis not!"

" 'Tis!"

Mrs. Babcock scurried over to them, shaking her finger scoldingly. "Now you four just make yourselves scarce this instant! The young miss- whoever she is- needs looking after, and the duke has entrusted us with her care. Ye don' want to disappoint 'im, do ye?"

"No, Mama," all four children sang obediently.

"Good. Now shoo for a while." She closed the door as soon as they were out of the way of it, then went back to Felicity, who's head rolled back and forth on the pillow as she moaned her agony to three curious strangers. Mrs. Babcock sat back down beside her, checked her wrist-wrappings for bleeding, then patted the girl's warm face with a cool damp cloth. "There, there, now, Miss. You'll be good as new before ye know it. Just you sleep now."

"Ben!" sobbed Felicity deliriously. "Ben, why did you leave me there?"

Mrs. Babcock looked up at the duke, mystified. " 'Oo's Ben?"

"I have no idea, Madame," Lord Covington replied, just as stumped. "But when she comes 'round, we'll find out. Just help her get over this...powder inflection, in the mean time."

"She's a right skinny lil' thing, isnt she," commented the squire's wife sadly. "Well! I'll just have to fill 'er up with some Babcock-family cookin' an' I'll wager she'll be lookin' like a bloomin' rose in a week's time!"

"Or she will just be lookin' full," said Squire Babcock, very much aware of how fast his wife's cooking could make a belly turn to a pumpkin.

"Oh shush, husband! You're as bad as the children!"

The duke smiled absently. He missed being married, missed his wife terribly. Evangeline would not want to see him so sad all of the time, he knew. But every time he thought about re-emerging into society, his heart just couldn't agree to it. Eve had been the center of his life, the sparkle of every ball they attended, the light of every event they attended. How could he find enjoyment at a festive gathering if he was not by her side?

He looked down at the mysterious red-head flinching within her disturbed sleep. _You have sent quite an enigma unto me, my darling Eve. Now what manner of sign shall I take her as?_

* * *

**Author's Note**: Would the Felicity we know and love from the books and/or movie ever consider taking her own life? Hell, no.

So before I get any bawling out over it, remember she IS experiencing drug-withdrawals and so she's not in her right mind. The use of opiate-based powders, ground-up tree-bark, herbs and so-called 'remedies' were abused just as much back then as they are now. Do you know what one of the 'cures' for diahrrea was? Sticking a chicken egg up one's rectum. Of course a chicken egg wasn't nearly as big back then as it is now (it took nearly 30 to make a cake) but the thought of sticking something where the sun don't shine is still disgusting. That just goes to show you that people tried anything and everything back then. That is how you learned whether something was useful or not: If you ingested it and got better, good for you. If you ingested it and got horribly sick but still lived, then you knew not to put it in your mouth ever again. If you ingested it and it killed you, then you'd be cured of ALL your ailments permanently.

Point is, the use of mind-altering powders, tinctures, drinks and herbs of all sorts of exotic and toxic blends were administered routinely. Especially by quacks. Opium was quickly gaining popularity about that time. I could get onto the subject of opium-parties, but I won't. I'm sleepy and I want to go to bed. Just know that Felicity is/was suffering withdrawals, and she normally wouldn't have, but I made her. That's one of the beauties of fanfic: you can create dramatic suffering where there ordinarily wouldn't be any. Can any of you readers honestly say you've never heard of a long-suffering heroine?

I didn't think so. And BTW: 'Unguin' is pronounced like 'onion' with the 'g' as in 'get'.


	16. Chapter16:How Do You Mend A Broken Heart

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Pt3, Ch 16: How Do You Mend A Broken Heart?

She shook and she shivered and she saw things that were really not there. Hallucinations, of course. But at the time, they were real to Felicity Merriman, who begged and pleaded for at least some of the powders she had come to rely on. She screamed and wailed, and appealed to a kindly-faced brown-haired woman to let her just have a little, that's all she needed to feel better, but the woman just smiled in her understanding, motherly way, shushed her soothingly, and made her drink soup. For some reason Felicity wasn't able to comprehend in her condition, it hurt like bloody blazes to move her hands at the wrists. Her nightmares were so bad that her shrieking was more than the daughters could endure at night, so they slept on blankets in the little cozy parlor.

Lord Covington, second Duke of Belhastings, came to see her everyday. For five days. At first she could not answer questions with coherent words. She pointed and shrieked at things only she could see, or cried wretchedly over someone named Ben who apparently abandoned her in her hour of need. But eventually, over the period of five days, Felicity began to calm down. The shaking began to subside, the nightmares not so soul-shattering, her appetite slowly returning. The duke smiled and tried to converse with her, but she still seemed too mentally unstable to string a sentence together that made sense.

One particular day of her delirium, the duke attempted to ask her for her name, but she continued to stare at the ceiling rafters over his head of dark hair with wide eyes. She sat upright against the pillows she had been reclining against, and pointed at arm's length with a trembling finger.

"What is it, young lady?" the duke inquired of her with a gentle smile. "Is my hair amiss?"

"Sheep!" cried Felicity in alarm. She grabbed the duke by the ruffle of his ascot and pulled his face close. "There are _sheep _on the ceiling, man!"

So he humored her. "My dear lady, that is unlikely, for I do not permit my livestock to wander any further than the parlor."

But she merely groaned and flopped back against the pillows, having so quickly lapsed back into sleep.

"Hmph!" said the duke, pretending to be offended.

"Forgive the poor lil' thing, m'lord," gushed Mrs. Babcock. "She has no idea where she is, or whom is addressing her."

"That is perfectly fine, Madame," replied the duke with a grin. "Sometimes I forget who _I _am!"

Ultimately, though, Felicity was emerging from her powder-deprived illness with a greater understanding that she was not in any danger at the moment. There was the beginnings of a sense of calm about her, something she hadn't experienced in what felt like forever. A kind, plump woman came and went from her, chatting cheerfully about children whose names were Rex, Pudding, Poppy and Marvel-Anne. If she was not speaking of them, she was speaking of her husband, who like to eat a lot and whack moles on their heads. The husband was very good friends with a duke who lived nearby.

Mentally overwhelmed by all of this information, Felicity fell back into a snoring sleep, thinking she had just imagined it all.

One evening, Lord Covington came to the Babcock cottage after his dinner to see about the nysterious girl's progress, and saw that the Squire was not his usual plucky, gabbing self. On the whole, he seemed nervous and tense as he lit up his evening pipe. The children had been told to bring in the family's three cows, and Mrs. babcock seemed to be just as edgy as her husband. Having known these people a good long while, the duke knew that somethng was out of place as soon as he was given admittance to the parlor.

"Something is on your mind, my friend," Lord Covington began as he sat down in in a high wing-backed arm chair exactly like the squire's across from him at the lit fireplace. Mrs. Babcock sat on the end of a two-seater sofa nearest to her husband with her basket of knitting. The couple exchanged an uneasy look.

"Has our guest revealed her identity?" He looked from Mr. to Mrs., puzzled. "I noticed that the shrieking has stopped."

"Ye-yes, so it has," Mrs. Babcock began absently, fidgeting more than she was knitting. "But, ye see, m'lord..."

The squire took his pipe from his mouth and leaned forward towards the duke, who immediately moved likewise, for it was obvious there was something of grave imporatnce about to be said. "There's talkin' goin' on in the village," said Mr. Babcock lowly, as if he did not trust the privacy of his own house.

"Talk? Whatever about?" The duke's grin was brilliant. "Is the clothing business finally going out of fashion?" The Covington family business was the manufacturing of clothing ready-made and bolted, also for shipping and trade. They specialized in woollen products for the most. Sometimes business was good, sometimes not. But Lord Covington, in his quiet-humored way, used to joke that as long as the human race required clothing then he would never be out of business.

But Squire Babcock did not smile. He shifted closer to the edge of his seat and said, "Well, m'lord, we're thinkin' this...'news' concerns our young miss in there..."

Immediately the duke sobered. "What is it, Babcock, what have you heard?"

"A fellow came into the pub today, talkin' about a big fire that destroyed the barn on the Forsythe estate in Newick. 'E says the wife of Lord Forsythe is missin' and there's a reward to be offered for 'er return." He gulped nervously. "She is supposed to have green eyes, red hair, and would most likely be ill."

The duke frowned. He sat back, rubbed his chin and looked contemplative. Mr. and Mrs. Babcock waited tensely for some kind of reaction from him, a word or something, anything, but all they got in response after a moment was a grunt. He continued staring at the fire, thinking. They did not know that in his mind, he was trying to ask Evangeline for help.

At length, he sighed. "The physical description fits her most definately. I suppose, then, we can safely assume that she is this...'missing' Lady Forsythe. Interesting. I did not know that young Lord Forsythe had finally married." Then he went quiet again, still looking preoccupied with thought.

"My lord," whispered Mrs. Babcock curiously, "what would you have us do?"

"Do?" He looked at her as if he was surprised she had to ask. "Why, nothing, of course!"

They blinked at him, startled.

"Look, my friends, the girl is, or was, quite ill. We knew that even before this 'news' arrived. We cannot just very well turn her back over to whomever. I told you, when I found her on my property she was in a terrible state of fear and despair. Desperate enough to be willing to take her own life in order to prevent going back to wherever or _whomever _she came from. If she did indeed come from the Forsythe estate, then this fire you speak of obviously has something to do with her dire situation."

"That is good reasonin', sar," Mr. Babcock nodded agreeingly, but hen he would have agreed with anything the duke had said. One did not argue with a man of his station, even if he was friendly with the lower classes!

"Oh, Good Land, Babcock," the duke sighed, "think about it: Do you merely turn your back on a soul that is suffering, or do you do as the Lord finds pleasing in His sight and help the poor thing? I was a dinner guest at the Forsythe estate once, just before Lord Alastair Forsythe passed away from whatever condition it was. From my personal experience there, I likened it to a dull and gloomy crypt! I have not had the opportunity to meet his only son, but I have heard that he is a strange young fellow. So it does not actually surprise me that our ill lass in there has no desire to return to that place."

"Truly!" exclaimed Mrs. Babcock, who found the living habits of the ranked and wealthy rather fascinating."I hear the young lord is losing 'is shipping business!"

At this, the duke made a snorting sound. "Shipping business, indeed! He and his father ran a _slaving _business, my dear Madame."

"Oh how abominable!"

The duke's gaze went back to the squire. "And what manner of man was this that is spreading this news that you heard today?"

The squire took a pull on his pipe before replying, "A big burly chap. Looked like 'e was dressed for hunting. I believe 'e said his name was 'Gooch.' "

Lord Covington went thoughtful again. "The Forsythes are strange people, Mr. Babcock. I do not trust them. Let us wait for our guest to be in her right mind, and then we shall hear her story. Say nothing to no one, Babcock. Do not speak of the girl to anyone for now. She is under my protection until further notice."

"Yes, m'lord," said the squire meekly. Though he had known the duke and his beloved deceased wife for years and the friendship between them was easy, Mr. Babcock was very aware that Lord Covington was still a peer of the realm, and could invoke his rank and it's authority if he deemed it necessary. Oh nay, he would never betray the duke's trust. "The lass is safe with us."

"Good. I knew you would not disappoint me. Or the memory of my Evangeline. I believe she would approve."

The squire smiled, his nervousness having eased quite a bit. Practically everyone who was acquainted with the duke and knew his late wife was aware of the generousity and sweetness of Lady Covington. Aye, she would have taken all of the troubled girl's problems and made them her own. There would never be another angel such as Lady Evangeline for as long as the sun continued to rise.

But would the late Lady Covington approve if her husband took more than a humanitarian interest in the mysterious girl being hidden in the squire's cottage?

* * *

Ultimately, Felicity woke one morning with her head less achy and her body not shaking for once. She felt as if she'd been sleeping for a year. Lord, she was hungry! She began to sit up groggily, squinting at the bright morning sunlight slanting in through a window that had ruffly white linen curtains were pulled all the way back on either side. She crinkled her nose. Bits and pieces of what she knew about her surroundings were coming back to her gradually. She was in a squire's cottage. A squire's wife had been tending to her. There had been brown-eyed children with curious round faces staring at her now and then. One of the children had asked if she was a secret princess. She was safe.

And there had been some kind of talk about her being rescued by a _duke_, of all things. That _had _to be a dream!

"Ah, awake are we?" The squire's wife was coming into the room, wiping her floured hands on her apron. Her smile was wide and motherly. " 'Tis about time, too! I got meself three daughters wantin' to know if'n you're a princess or not, and one son 'oo wants to know just for the sake of it!"

Felicity swallowed, finding her mouth dry."No ma'am, I am no princess," she croaked, also finding her voice to sound just awful, like she'd had a fierce cold. Instictively, a hand went to the base of her throat to rub, but the simple gesture made her wrist burn and ache deeply, resulting in a slight gasp.

"Careful, there, Miss," advised Mrs. Babcock, sitting down on the bed to face her. "Ye've got yeself a right nasty wound, there, and on the other one." She watched Felicity look at the insides of both of her wrists in shock, finding them wound up in bandages, inspecting them as if this was drastic news she couldn't believe. Mrs. Babcock did indeed take instant pity on her. "Now don' ye worry none, you'll heal in no time! Just be slow and careful."

Felicity looked at her with troubled, dull green eyes. "What happened to me?"

"Ye don' know?" Clearly, this startled Mrs. Babcock, who had a hand go up to her heart. "Well what do ye remember?"

Felicity's gaze fell to the bedsheets as she tried to think. She was groggy and tired, which didn't help the thought process very much. She closed her eyes and saw flashing images of fire, followed by the sensation of running. Grey mist. A man coming at her on a horse.

Sheep.

Then her eyes snapped open. Wide. "I was running...I fell over a sheep! A man was coming after me!"

"Well _that _would have been the duke!" Mrs. Babcock informed her pleasantly with a proud smile. " 'E was out making rounds on 'is property, and 'e found _you _all delirious and ill- and 'e says ye cut yeself to keep from bein' captured. But the duke is a kind man. Among the best of men, 'e is. 'E brought ye here to us for lookin' after and safe keepin,' and we're not about to disappoint 'im!"

"S-So that part is true," Felicity stammered awkwardly. "A real duke. N-No one was trying to catch me and take me back to..."

"The Forsythe place?" Mrs. Babcock chuckled softly while Felicity gaped in a near-panic. "Now just ye calm yeself! Aint no one going to find ye here. You're under the protection of the Duke of Belhastings, Miss. 'E will be quite happy to hear you're awake and talkin' sense. Speakin' of talkin', you're definitely not from 'round 'ere! Whereabouts do ye hail from?"

"The American colonies, ma'am. Virginia, to be exact." Her horrible croaking voice had a tremor in it, most likely because she was still nervous at finding out these people knew that she had come from the Forsythe estate. "I was brought here against my will."

Mrs. Babcock gasped softly. "Oh you poor thing! Did that strange Lord Forsythe do it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Felicity croaked warily. Any other time she would have been frantic to tell someone her situation and beg for help, but in this mind-numbing, soul-draining condition she was in, just the _thought _of getting all riled up was terribly exhausting. And she hadn 't made up her mind to trust _anyone _yet, duke or no duke. She simply had to be careful. The way she was feeling at _this _moment, she actually didn't give a damn what happened next.

Mrs. Babcock patted her leg reassuringly. 'Don' ye worry, dear. The duke will be glad to help ye any way 'e can."

Felicity smiled thinly. She wasn't about to put a great amount of faith into something that sounded too good to be true. Unless she witnessed something with her own eyes, she wasn't about to believe it. _Funny_, she mused warily, _I never used to be this way. I used to have faith in people, I used to believe what was good would always prevail. Now look at me. Is there nothing I am not bitter about?  
_Mrs Babcock rose and regarded Felicity with a curious look. "What's it like there, in the colonies?"

She swallowed forcefully, not really feeling up to talking about her home so very far away, or the loved ones she felt she'd been separated from for years. "Well, the summers are very hot. People pretty much go about as they please. Women there do not have any more rights than a cow...: Her cheeks turned pink seeing that the older woman was staring at her almost worriedly. " 'Tis nice." She didn't know quite what to say anymore, about anything.

"I will fetch you some breakfast now, how about that?" The motherly smile was back. "The children are gathering eggs and doin' their chores, so you might just get to eat in peace. One of 'em will fetch the duke, for 'e's anxious to meet ye."

How lovely. "Thank you ma'am," was all she croaked.

"D'ye feel like gettin' up and movin' about?"

Felicity wasn't too sure about that. Actually what she wanted to do was fall back into a long, dreamless sleep and not have to be faced with meeting a duke, which she was still not entirely sure about, or any other burdens of the waking world. Especially _her _waking world. "I'm not sure. I can try..."

" 'Ere now, let me help." Mrs. Babcock helped her turn down the covers and turn her legs to the edge of the bed. Felicity frowned. For the first time she noticed that she was wearing a clean white shift with long sleeves. When had that happened? She held to the kindly woman as her feet touched the woollen rug beside the bed. There was probably a whole lot she didn't know about while she slept. Like Lettie's fate.

She wavered a bit when she rose, blinking uncertainly at her surroundings. There was a wash basin on a stand near a simple vanity that had an ordinary-looking mirror and upon it was a set of ordinary brushes, a dainty box for storing ribbons in, and another wooden box with a carved name on its lid: Marvel-Anne. At these little-girlish things, Felicity couldn't help but smile. So maybe she hadn't _completely _turned to stone yet after all.

"Slowly now," advised Mrs. Babcock, watching the girl begin to take steps toward the vanity as she held securely to her. "Ye want to get washed up? That must be a sign o' progress, for no one feels like cleanin' up when they feel the worst! D'ye need assistance, dear?"

"No thank you, ma'am," Felicity croaked with a slight smile. What she actually wanted was to get a look in that vanity mirror to see if she still looked like herself, because she certainly did not _feel _like herself. "I think I'll manage all right now. Thank you."

"You're welcome, dear. If you need help with anything, I'll be in the kitchen makin' you breakfast. Don' worry nothin' about formality. Just yell. That's what me husband and the children do when we aint got company." She sighed, but giggled. "Were so used to ye bein' 'ere now, ye might as well be family! Got a name, do ye?"

"Felicity. Felicity Merriman." She tried her best to fully smile back at the woman, but couldn't even tell if she accomplished it or not.

"Oh, that's lovely. I'll return to ye shortly, Miss Felicity!" Mrs. Babcock scurried out, closing the door some of the way, to give Felicity _some _privacy.

She heard the laughter of the children as they went about their chores outside on this crisp morning. Having been a child once herself, she recalled how her own energy created by running around kept her warm on winter mornings like these. Lord, things were so much simpler back then! Felicity inhaled and stepped in front of the vanity mirror.

Good God.

At first she didn't even recognize herself. White as a sheet, her eyes dull and shadowed with purple, her face thinner than she had last seen. In fact, she was thinner all over. From lack of eating, no doubt. But that was only so she wouldn't be consuming so much of those vile powders. She looked like she had indeed been violently ill. She raised her hands to touch her face, but then became distracted by the white wrappings around each wrist. Oh, her wrists were incredibly sore! She felt like the pain went all the way through the bone. And she herself had done this? She couldn't even remember doing it! Her stricken green eyes rose to meet those of the ghostly-looking girl in the looking-glass. The only familiar thing about her, to herself, was her hair. It was a tangled, matted mess, but she considered that to be nothing compared to how wretched she looked in the face.

And this so-called 'duke' was anxious to meet her, eh? Well _she _would have as many questions for _him _as he would for _her_. But she wasn't about to trust _anyone_, aristocrat or not. As soon as she could think clearly, had recovered enough to fend for herself, she was getting out of here, somehow, someway. She would find a way home one way or the other.

From inside the cozy little bedchamber, she heard a sharp raping on the door of the cottage and stiffened instictively. Perhaps it was this duke Mrs. Babcock kept gushing about. If so, Felicity resolved not to go out of her way to be formal with him. She trusted no one. For all she knew, this 'duke' was merely another man wanting to run her life somehow. She'd had much too much of that.

As she reached for a drying towel beside the wash basin to dry her pale face with, she heard Mrs. Babcock open the door to greet whoever it was, and the words she heard in reply to the kindly woman were, " 'Scuse me, ma'am, is yer husband about?" and she froze from mussy head to tense toe.

It was Ezekiel Gooch.

* * *

_Couldn't sleep so I went out walking  
Thinking about you and hearing us talking  
And all the things I should have said  
Echo now, inside my head  
I feel something falling from the sky  
I'm so sad I made the angels cry  
Tears from the moon  
Fall down like rain  
I reach for you, I reach in vain  
Tears from the moon  
_Lyrics from the aptly named 'Tears From The Moon" by Conjure One

Ben Davidson had not only never been to sea before, but he had never been at sea during a raging _thunderstorm _before, either. In his tiny cabin alone, as the ship tossed and pitched, he merely sat on the edge of his skinny cot and gripped it with both hands staring blankly at the floor planks while overhead the crew was all on deck, yelling and running. Apparently lightning had struck the main mast and now there was a fire to put out. All that rain and crashing waves, and the men were haning trouble putting out a fire.

But Ben didn't care whether it was put out or not. If this ship could not get him to Felicity, then he _would _rather go down. At present, all he could think about was 'Did Felicity go through anything like this?' 'Did her ship go down, even?' 'How bad scared was she?' There was screaming from one of the cabins a few partitions down from his, where Elizabeth and Arthur were staying. As high-pitched as the screaming was everytime the thunder rattled the air, Ben highly doubted it was Elizabeth that was doing it.

Three weeks at sea and poor Arthur still hadn't recovered from motion-sickness.

Ben Davidson had given no thought to his own well-being at sea. He didn't have the time or the mind to. His only thoughts, his dreams, his worries, were focused on only Felicity. What she was having to endure. What her nightmarish voyage with that damned Forsythe had been like.

If she was even still alive or not.

She _had _to still be alive. If she wasn't then _his _heart would have ceased as well. Blank-faced and miserable, he had already determined that he would endure anything just to get to her. Anything. His great fear was that she was having to endure far worse than he was, therefore anything he had to go through was no less than he deserved. _Please, Lord, allow me to live at least until I can bring her home! Then I will accept my punishment however You see fit!_

_Please just let me find her! _

__

It all came so easy, all the loving you gave me  
The feelings we shared, and I still can remember  
How your touch was so tender, it told me you cared  
We had a once in a lifetime  
But I just couldn't see, until it was gone  
A second once-in-a-lifetime, may be too much to ask  
But I swear from now on  
If ever you're in my arms again, this time I'll love you much better  
If ever you're in my arms again, this time I'll hold you forever,  
This time will never end.

Now I'm seeing clearly, How I still need you near me  
I still love you so  
There's something between us that won't ever leave us,  
There's no letting go.  
We had a once-in-a-lifetime, but I just didn't know it  
Til my life fell apart  
A second once-in-a-lifetime isn't too much to ask  
Cause I swear from the heart  
If ever you're in my arms again, This time I'll love you much better  
If ever you're in my arms again, This time will never end

The best of romances deserve second chances  
I'll get to somehow, 'cause I promise now  
If ever you're in my arms again, This time, I'll love you much better  
If ever you're in my arms again, This time I'll hold you forever  
This time will never end  
-Lyrics from one of the most classic love songs 'If Ever You're In My Arms Again' by Peabo Bryson


	17. Chapter 17: Felicity Meets The Duke

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE Pt3, Ch 17: Felicity Meets The Duke

"Is yer husband about?" Felicity heard the Gooch ask casually at the door of the Babcock cottage. She froze, ready to bolt, ready to scream, ready to just fly if instinct told her to, and she would do so without thinking. There was a window in this room, fully capable of being raised if need be. Capable of being _leaped _through, if need be. And then, suddenly, there was part of her that said she would stand up for herself and refuse to be taken, right to the Gooch's face if need be.

"Nay, 'e's not," replied Mrs. Babcock with a touch of stiffness in her tone. " 'E went into the village. And who might I say is askin' for 'im?"

"Name's Ezekial Gooch, ma'am. I met yer husband th' other day at th' pub. I was just wonderin' if he'd seen the missin' girl-er, the missin' Lady, round these parts. There's a reward bein' offered for 'er. I'd be mighty obliged if ye knew anything of 'er."

"Nay, Mr. Gooch, I know of no such person. A missin' Lady, ye say? She a criminal?"

"Naw, ma'am. Just missin' from 'er husband's estate."

Mrs. Babcock made a scoffing sound. "My goodness, Mr. Gooch, is this another one o' those marital problems of the upper class? Because if it is, my husband and I have far more pressing matters than that!"

"Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am, but there _is _a reward bein' offered..." The Gooch sounded as if he were almost pleading. It annoyed Felicity more than it did frighten.

"I know nothing about any missing lady, Mr. Gooch! Now if you'll excuse me, I got chores t'do, and they aint gettin' done by theirself!" Mrs. Babcock was shutting the door, but not before Felicity heard the Gooch sigh irately. Surely he would leave now. Felicity wobbled over to the side of the bedroom window to peer out for a sign of him while the fluttery curtains hid her from view.

Blast. She wasn't able to see anything but the barn, the children chasing the chickens, and the little rickety gate into the Babcock's vegetable garden. But at least the children hadn't seen the big burly stranger coming or (hopefully) going. Apparently, English children enjoyed games of catching hens, too.

Mrs. Babcock swept in so fast that Felicity gasped and nearly shrieked. " 'E's gone!" the woman breathed with relief. "The duke aint goin' to like this, because yer under 'is protection, ye see. When 'e finds out about this, 'e'll use 'is rank to hunt that 'Goose' or 'Gooch' or whatever 'is name is, down!"

"What of your husband, ma'am?" Felicity asked warily, pressing a hand to her chest in a gesture of trying to calm herself after the woman's abrupt entry. "Will he tell the Gooch about me?"

"Not if 'e values the duke's friendship, which 'e most certainly does!" Mrs. Babcock raised her chin proudly. "We would never do anything to destroy that...especially after all that poor man has been through!"

Calming down gradually, Felicity moved away from the window, moving less unsteadily than before, her interest finally roused. "What do you mean?"

If there was anything a proper gossip enjoyed more, it was speaking about the upper crust. Though Mrs. Babcock was the best-natured and kindest of souls, she was still prone to bouts of chatter like any other information-seeking countrywoman. She clasped her hands together and smiled brilliantly. "Oh, my dear, 'e had suffered greatly the loss of 'is beloved wife and baby girl in childbirth 'round three and a half years ago! We thought 'e'd never smile again! His only child lives with the family of the late Lady Covington, for the sight of the boy is too much like that of 'is wife."

Felicity felt a twinge of sympathy, but had yet to be swayed in the matter of trustworthiness. "Doesn't his son need him?"

"Of course. Father and son see each other every few months, but the duke's pain is still too fresh." The woman sighed forlornly. " 'E really should put 'iself back into society, 'e's been isolated for so long! A right-thinking person can understand that its too soon for 'im to find another wife, feelin' the way 'e does, but it would be nice t'see 'im happy again. No one could ever replace Lady Evangeline."

Felicity felt kind of awkward, hearing intimate details of a person's loss, duke or not. She firmly told herself not to get involved. She had to get busy trying to find a way home. Mrs. Babcock must have sensed her unease, for she took Felicity's arm and gently walked her toward the trunk at the foot of Marvel-Anne's bed. "You look about my eldest daughter's height. Marvel-Anne has a few dresses to spare, if'n ye dont mind plain things..."

"Oh no, ma'am, I do not mind at all. That's very nice of you."

Pleased that her guest had no fastidious requirements, Mrs. Babcock smiled pleasantly once more. "Don' ye worry, Miss Felicity, you're safe here. You get changed and I'll see if I can't finish yer breakfast, then."

"Thank you, ma'am." Felicity waited until the door was completely shut before she changed clothes. It was nice to get into something more appropriate for running around outdoors, for she still wasn't convinced she could trust these people, or this duke, or this area in particular. Apparently, she was not that far from Forsythe Manor, if the Gooch could come here and inquire after her. That was not a reassuring thought.

However, as numbed as her mind was and drained as her body felt, she would do whatever was necessary to keep from going back to that horrible place.

It wasn't like she had anything to loose in fighting.

When Felicity came in to eat her delicious plate of eggs, bacon and fresh hot biscuits with apple-butter, she ate as though she were a growing boy. She reminded herself of Ben when he was younger and his appetite was always unfathomable. Bitterly, she wondered if Clarissa Dupre was feeding him properly.

The children, all rambunctious four of them, came inside, still fresh with the energy of playing up a hunger outside. Seeing that their mystery-guest, who was not a princess, but something of a special secret between their family and the duke, was up and sitting at their family eating-table, they were immediately full of questions:

"Where are ye from?"

"Wot's it like there?"

"Do ye have brothers an' sisters?"

"Can you work magic?"

Mrs. Babcock turned red at her children's relentlessness. "The four o' you be quiet! Miss Felicity wants to eat! She don' need four little bees hummin' around 'er askin' questions!"

Felicity offered them all a polite smile and said softly, "They are no bother to me, ma'am. I have three younger siblings myself. There are far worse things for me to be concerned with than curious children."

A look of understanding passed between Felicity and Mrs. Babcock as Marvel-Anne turned to her mother and entreated, "See, Mama? She doesn't mind us!"

" _'Felicity'_," sighed Poppy Babcock dreamily, thoughtfully, to no one in particular. " 'Tis such a lovely name- the name of a faerie queen!"

Felicity turned red.

The seven year old girl, Pudding, nudged Poppy and whispered (loudly), "I thought you didn' _believe _in faeries!"

"Not _all _of 'em!"

Mrs Babcock shushed her excited youngsters, reminding them with motherly authority in her voice that they were to speak of Miss Felicity to no one, especially outside the house. As much as the children were enthused to have such a novelty as a mystery guest/maybe-princess/maybe-faerie queen in their home, they wished very much to brag and boast, but risking the wrath of their mother and the disappointing the duke was stronger than the fear of the Lord in their minds.

Marvel-Anne expressed disappointment with a sigh and a "something exciting finally happens and we cannot say naught to no one," statement, to which Mrs. Babcock scolded in reply, "Now let us have none of your sass this morning, Marvel-Anne. I want ye t'take Poppy with ye up to Belhall and ask for Lord Covington. He'll be wantin' to see Miss Felicity now that she's back in her senses."

Hastily, she turned to Felicity, blushing. "Beggin' yer pardon, dear, but the duke is most eager t'hear yer story."

Felicity nodded with polite understanding, though on the inside she really wasn't in any kind of mood to meet a ranked lordship at all. She would do whatever she had to, though, in order to get home to her family. _This _family seemed to be a decent, likeable lot, even though she had yet to meet the squire. 'Twas reasonable that if a duke entrusted them with her safe-keeping, that they certainly would not want to let him down.

When breakfast was finished, Marvel-Anne and Poppy donned their cloaks and set off for the duke's place, Pudding and Rex went to their lessons just inside a small adjoining room, where they were to practice hand writing and reading, respectively, within earshot of their mindful mother, who cleared the table with Felicity's help.

"Ye needn't tend to plates an' such, dear," Mrs. Babcock said fussily. "Ye just got over a terrible affliction! Yer a guest here. Do sit down an' finish yer tea."

"Thank you, Mrs. Babcock, but if I do not find a way of keeping my mind occupied, I shall go to pieces thinking of things I'd rather not."

"Well...I s'pose I can't argue with that, now, can I?" smiled sympathetically, with a cock of her head. "I've always believed that idle hands are the devil's tools. Come along, then, and show me how skilled ye are in the trade of dish-washing."

"Oh Mama! Can't _I _help Miss Felicity wash the dishes, too?" cried young Pudding, dropping her ink quill and trotting in to them. "Can't I?"

"Oh me too!" cried little Rex, who reminded Felicity a lot of William when he was that age. He came trotting in after his sister in a flurry of excitement.

" 'Tis not 'Can't I,' but 'May I?' and no, you may not," said Mrs. Babcock sternly, hands on hips. "Ye want t'grow up ignorant? Both o' ye get back to yer lessons so ye can make somethin' of yerselves someday. I won' have ignorant children who don' know what to do with their silly selves! Now shoo!"

"Yes, Mama," the two disappinted youngsters recited, slowly turning back to the little room with shuffling feet.

Mrs. Babcock sighed and said to Felicity in a lowered voice, "They never beg t'do chores when we aint got special company." She giggled secretively. "But truth be told, 'tis flattering t'know they want to show themselves off as right proper lil' angels who aint ignorant after all. Unfortunately, they jus' don' want to do it until we 'ave company!"

Felicity smiled a little. "I was like that when I was that age." Then something nagged at her undeniable Merriman-curiosity, and she asked, "Are...are girls allowed to be schooled here in England, ma'am?"

"Somewhat," Mrs. Babcock smiled as she accepted the stack of dishes Felicity gave her from the table. "Just depends. But they don' get the learnin' that the boys do, no matter what school they attend. We aint poor, but we aint wealthy, neither. I want my girls t'learn readin' and writin' so they can take on jobs as governesses if they can't find suitable husbands. Eligible men aint easy t'find 'round these parts."

Felicity looked soured. "And governesses are not exactly held in high regard. Except for Reginald Forsythe's. He was so obsessed with _his _at the age of seven that he killed her to keep her from leaving."

Mrs. Babcock gasped, stepping closer to Felicity with widened brown eyes. "Ye don' say! Lord above, I heard that he was strange, but here is the truth to decide it all! How d'ye know?"

By speaking to someone of Reginald's murderous childhood, she felt as if she were getting back at him, and it pleased her. "His cousin Tristan told me. Reginald and Tristan have no love for each other, and if one of them revealed a horrible secret about the other, I would believe it because they hate each other enough to tell the truth." She 'hrumph-ed' sarcastically. "Unless they are trying to spite one another, their mouths are full of lies."

"How dreadful!" exclaimed Unguin Babcock, looking absolutely fascinated and not the least bit appalled. "Why, if we did'n have dishes to do, I'd boil us up another pot o' tea an' listen to your whole story! I'll wager those Forsythes are-"

"Someone's coming!" Felicity whispered shrilly, her red head whipping around toward the door of the cottage. "I hear a horse!"

There was also the sounds of girls' laughter. Mrs. Babcock breathed a sigh of relief as she scurried over to the nearest window to look out. " 'Tis Poppy and Marvel-Anne! They have returned with the duke, Miss Felicity! I do believe they met 'im out on 'is mornin' rounds, for 'he's leadin' 'em on 'is horse!"

Felicity joined at the window, peering out nervously as if she expected any one of the unpleasant faces she'd had to look upon the last four months to suddenly pop up out of nowhere. But all she saw was Poppy and Marvel-Anne sitting astride the big white stallion of Lord Eric Covington, second Duke of Belhastings, who himself walked alongside the magnificent animal, holding its reins as the girls continued to giggle.

Perhaps this duke was not so bad after all. He was grinning as he walked his big horse up the path to the house. Pudding and Rex came flying back in from the little room they were supposed to be reading and writing in so they could look out the window, too. And this time Mrs. Babcock didn't mind. The man did seem friendly, to the girls at least. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired (as far as Felicity could tell underneath his tricorn), reminding her sadly of Ben Davidson. She had to draw in her breath suddenly and slam down the welling urge to sob.

He certainly wasn't dressed like any duke that she had ever heard about. No royal-looking garb whatsoever. He was dressed in sharp-looking dark blue coat and breeches, appearing as any well-dressed gentleman should without anything to indicate that he was ranked- aside from something like a badge or crest on the side of his tricorn, Felicity could not tell for certain at this distance. She watched passively as he tied the horse to a post and helped the gleeful girls down one at a time.

Poppy and Marvel-Anne seemed to absolutely adore him.

As if reading her thoughts, Mrs. Babcock smiled and said, "M'husband and I were hoping that one day 'is son, young Thomas, might want to marry Poppy or Pudding, seein' that Marvel-Anne is five years too old, but the poor lad is never around long enough to- Oh, here 'e comes!" She bustled past Felicity, adjusting her mobcap (which actually didn't need any adjusting) on her way to the cottage door. She hastily beckoned to Felicity to come to her side.

Felicity did not attempt to adjust her own mobcap, which was actually _not _hers but Marvel-Anne's, feeling that whatever ill-looking state she would be seen in would be a form of protection to hide behind.

Mrs. Babcock gave the duke a few seconds to rap upon the door, despite Poppy and Marvel-Anne excitedly shouting on the outside, "We're back, Mama! We're back!" Pudding and Rex giggled and jumped up and down where they stood. Thier mother scolded lightly, "All right, all right, calm down!" She herself took a deep breath and flung open the door, exclaiming, "My good Lord Covington! How nice that ye've come so quickly! Do come insode and allow me to present to you our lovely guest, full awake at last!"

Felicity was still uncertain about the 'fully' part.

As the second Duke of Belhastings quickly stepped inside, removing his aristocratic tricorn and bowing to Mrs. Babcock, Poppy and Marvel-Anne flounced in behind him, still full of limitless, youthful energy, cheeks pink from the fesh cold air outside. They stood with their siblings and grinned proudly at Felicity. The duke turned to Felicity and bowed a second time. His blue eyes met her unimpressed,somber greenones, and he smiled most pleasantly.

"M'lord, this is Miss Felicity Merriman of Virginia, in the American colonies." Mrs. Babcock beamed happily. "Miss Felicity, is our friend and neighbor, Lord Covington, the second Duke of Belhastings."

Felicity curtsied stiffly, briefly.

"So, our mystery guest has a name _and _an origin!" Lord Covington grinned at her good-naturedly. " 'Tis a pleasure to meet you formally, Miss Merriman."

"Thank you, Lord Covington," Felicity replied emotionlessly, unwilling to extend any warmth beyond the Babcocks as yet. "I understand I have you to thank for saving my life out in the field, after I..." She hesitated, feeling quite awkward attempting to describe how she nearly committed suicide. "I was...very ill. I am still not myself." _And I wonder if I ever will be again. _" But I thank you just the same."

"You are quite welcome, Miss Merriman. Always glad to be of service to my fellow human beings." He looked to Mrs. Babcock, who was so into their conversation that she had forgotten herself entirely.

"Oh! Oh my, let us go sit down, shall we?" The kindly woman turned red, gesturing toward the parlor. The eager children wanted to follow, and had every intention of doing so, when their mother turned to them and said, "Now, children, you are excused from your lessons for the time being- but only so that you may attend to the duke's horse."

"Oh, may we, m'lord?" Little Rex Babcock looked as though nothing in the world could make him happier than to attend to the duke's magnificent white stallion.

"Yes, you may," Lord Covington agreed amiably, knowing that his trusted mount would indeed be well tended to in the hands of the eager-to-please Babcock children. Despite their rambunctiousness they truly were dear little things. "I do believe Perks has cantered up a thirst this morning, and would appreciate a drink...and a little affection from some of the lovely little ladies around here. Go ahead."

Blissfully happy, the youngsters nearly tripped over one another on their way to the pegs on which their cloaks hung so that they could get out to the big horse tied at the gate. This would enable the grown ups to discuss important matters, but that fact was lost upon four energetic children who's sole purpose in life at this moment was to see to it that the Duke of Belhastings's horse was properly fed and watered. Mrs. Babcock spared the duke a relieved look, and ushered her two guests into the parlor.

"Some hot tea, m'lord? 'Tis quite crisp this mornin'."

"No thank you, madame, I am good. Is your husband home?"

This inquiry immediately annoyed Felicity, who made no attempt at hiding it as she sat down beside Mrs. Babcock on the two-seater across from the duke, who sat in one of the high-backed chairs. Why was it everyone who came to someone's door always asked for a woman's husband? 'Twas as if people believed a woman was not capable of knowing anything that went on outside her own kitchen!

"Nay, m'lord, he went into the village early this mornin' to sell moleskins. 'E's never home when things happen! A man came earlier, inquiring t'see Rufus." She leaned forward, suddenly secretive and nervous. " 'Twas the man 'e met at the pub t'other day, the one who told 'im about Lady Forsythe being missin'!"

Felicity frowned even harder and put in, "_Please _do not call me that, Ma'am, 'tis not my name at all!"

The duke took quick note of that. "So it seems, Miss Merriman. Since you are apparently recovering from your nasty affliction, may I assume you can tell us your story of how you came to be in your situation?" Having also noted the chagrin on the girl's ashen face when he had inquired on the whereabouts of the squire, he added politely, "I was wanting to include in on the conversation so that he may be made aware of my instructions on keeping your location safe."

Oh. Felicity's chin came up a little. She never used to be this way, so mistrusting of people, so negatively assuming. She didn't like the new Felicity she had become. It was alarming. "I will tell you everthing...though you may not believe it, my lord"

"Why do you say that?" The duke seemed genuinely surprised.

She gulped warily, her throat still achy and croaky. "Because I can hardly believe it all myself." Her blank, empty stare slipped to the floor. "I didn't ask to be brought here. I didn't want to have anything to do with Lord Reginald Forsythe."

Lord Covington nodded. "Believe it or not, Miss Merriman, I do not wish to have anything to do with Lord Forsythe, either. His family is a strange lot. A most _unnerving _lot."

Felicity's eyes went wide. This duke knew the Forsythes? "H-How do you...?" She couldn't finish she was so taken aback.

The duke smiled tolerantly, clasped his hands together upon his knee and looked her directly in the eye. "Why don't you begin with your story and then I shall tell you mine."

* * *

**Author's babble**: I didn't know I'd be getting such concerned responses about Lettie, whom I had not planned on bringing back, after all she's not an American Girl character, but one out of my own head. It is possible to bring her back, and if you guys really want me to, I can do it. Then there's the matter of Nan marrying the French character I created. I wouldn't have her go live in France, away from her family, since I have already put the Merriman family through enough separations! Anyone have thoughts about that? And sorry this chapter was so late. A few days ago I had to do a system restore on my computer, but at least its working MUCH better now!


	18. Chapter 18: A New Arrangement

So Felicity told Lord Covington all that had happened to her since she had left her home that fateful night to look for her fiance. She told him about her family, Reginald Forsythe's plot, the Gooch, her father's shooting. The powders. The forced marriage that had not been consumated, otherwise she truly would be dead. Tristan Forsythe. Lettie...dear, brave Lettie. It was an obvious struggle for her to remain emotionless talking about Lettie. She had been doing fair enough keeping a stone wall in her heart between herself and her feelings for Ben, but losing Lettie was still so fresh. When her story was finished she sagged back against the sofa and stared at her hands in her lap, at the white bindings that hid the ugly gashes from view. She'd drained herself right through.

"My goodness!" exhaled Mrs. Babcock, her mind a-whirl after all that she had just absorbed from Felicity's narration. "What a terrible time you've had! Those Forsythes are such dreadful people!" She looked at the duke with astonished eyes. "Whatever can you do, m'lord?"

Lord Covington had remained silent while Felicity had told all she could. He had listened to every word, nodded at certain points in her descriptions of things and events, and came to the conclusion that his beloved Evangeline had indeed sent unto him a challenge. He sat there, arms resting upon those of the armchair, expression set in earnest, his dark blue eyes thoughtful. Having given Miss Merriman a chance to collect herself, and Mrs. Babcock a moment to ponder, he sat forward in the chair and pursed his lips in careful consideration.

"Well, Miss Felicity, I have no doubt that your family is very worried about you. You say your father is, or _was_, too weak from having been shot twice to endure a voyage over sea to find you. That is very understandable. The first course of action I recommend we take is writing to him and your family at once to assure them of your safety and protection. I meant what I said about keeping you under my protection during the rest of your stay in England."

Felicity straightened, gulping nervously at the last of his words. "Wh-what do you mean, 'the rest of my stay in England?' "

He smiled a bit. "Oh you know, the remainder of your time here in the country...before you are sent home to the colonies upon one of my ships." As she gaped with staring eyes, he had to work at concealing his amusement over the girl's awe. "You _do _wish to return to your family, do you not?"

"You-You can do that?" she stammered, having been completely thrown off-guard again.

He shrugged, smiling a little more. "My dear, I am the Duke of Belhastings, and a right shrewd businessman with a couple of ships at his disposal on top of that. I can pretty much do as I please. One of the advantages of being a duke is being able to send lost lasses home on his ships." He had meant to try to get the girl to smile or lighten up a little at the very least, but all she could do was stare at him as if his words were too good to be true. It struck a chord in him, her seriousness and underlying despair, for he himself had been just that way right after Evangeline's passing. He had felt like everything good and right in the world had just vanished, leaving him without hope or faith. Hell, he'd sent his confused son to live with his wife's family because the boy's likeness to Evangeline had been too painful.

"You can just put me on a ship and send me back to the American Colonies?" Felicity still looked so uncertain, so afraid it was too good to be true that it was almost pitiful.

"Oh definitely!" exclaimed Mrs. Babcock cheerfully, patting the girl's shoulder with reassurance. "The duke is a man of his word!"

"Thank you, madame, I appreciate it." Lord Covington nodded modestly, trying not to appear prideful. "You could not sail alone of course, so one of my female household staff would need to accompany you. A lady must never travel alone."

"But sir," Felicity said feebily, "I am no lady. I am no one in particular. I am not worth arranging an entire voyage for...I mean, you shouldn't go out of your way just to- to-" She was blushing, having felt like she had just shrunken to the size of a pea sitting there beside Mrs. Babcock. She had a sudden fear that that she must have looked even more frightful in her unhealthy appearance than she herself had seen, if the duke was eager to get rid of her so quickly!

And why _now_, all of a sudden, did it matter what Lord Covington thought about her? She had already decided not to trust him before he'd even set foot in the cottage. Of _course _she wanted desperately to go home, but she certainly didn't need anyone's pity! Why on earth were the opinons of others beginning to matter?

" 'Tis no problem at all, Miss Merriman," the duke said graciously, his smile warm. "Allow me to relate to you the situation. You see, my younger brother, Noah, lives in the territory known as The Newfoundland- or simply Newfoundland. He deals with people there in a harbor called St' John's on behalf of our family's wool and clothing company. The young chap has actually settled there, preferring it to his very own England! A cargo of supplies is past due him, I believe. All but two of my seven ships have been reconfigured by the King's navy for use in the war." He chuckled dryly. "I was promised compensation for them, but I am _not _holding my breath. The country is going bankrupt as it is, engaging in one war after another. But as long as I have at least two good ships, I can send supplies to my brother and _you _back to the colonies as well."

Felicity nodded absently, still shock-numbed by the possibility he was offering.

"You do not mind cold weather, do you, Miss Felicity?" the duke inquired pleasantly.

"Me? No!" she half-croaked, half-squeaked. Another new worry then came to light in her whirling mind: "My Lord, it would be, perhaps, _dangerous _to approach the American coasts, what with the French and General Washington's navies present."

"Ah yes, the war." Lord Covington shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck as he thought aloud. "I heard that Cornwallis had surrendered, but that does not mean the fighting is over. Hmm...Newfoundland is not American territory, so _those _waters should not be hostile. And if you were to land at New York, then I suppose you could travel by carriage the rest of the way to Virginia..."

"Have you ever been to the colonies, my lord?"

"Oh no, my dear, I have not. But my brother has been as far south as the New Jersey colony. He writes and tells me all about his adventures in the north and the friends he's collected- he even made me a map, so that I would have a better understanding of the places he's decribed in his letters. I must admit, I envy his freedom."

"How long has it been since you've seen young Lord Noah?" inquired Mrs. Babcock, absently deterring from the subject at hand.

Lord Covington sighed tolerantly. "A little over four years. Even then he detested being called _Lord_."

"Excuse me, Lord Covington," Felicity hastily put in, lest the subject get even further distracted, "I-I am, I mean, I _would _be grateful if you truly could provide my transport home, but there is still the matter of what Reginald Forsythe has done. What he is _still _doing, which is hounding me, by sending that Mr. Gooch to hunt for me. I do not wish to go back- I _refuse _to go back! He stole me away from my family, forced me to come here and continued to use the very same medicine his very own mother depends upon so that he could force me into marriage! I would not put it past him to take a ship and follow me back to the colonies!"

"He will do no such thing, Miss Merriman, you have my word upon it!" The duke looked very assured of that, not to mention undaunted. "Now I shall relate to you some of the things _I _have learned about our relentless little 'friend' Lord Forsythe! I have trusted friends willing to seek out information at my asking, one of them a lawyer who has been in my family's service since I was a lad. He has found out that the Forsythe slaving business is all but in ruins. Lord Reginald cannot afford to pay his passage aboard a ship, much less _charter _one."

"I know," Felicity attempted to reason, trying not to sound short of patience. "But he is insane, my lord. Lunatics can do things normal-minded people cannot!"

The duke nodded, understanding her worry. "Do not fear, Miss Felicity, he will not get near you on land nor at sea. I have it in my authority to have him arrested."

Felicity's eyebrows shot up, her dull eyes widening. "You can do that?"

"Can you?" echoed Mrs. Babcock, equally wide-eyed.

"Indeed. He may even put the fear of joblessness into his household if they dare testify against him, but he cannot really threaten them with what is already inevitable. He cannot afford to retain a staff of two, much less an entire house. We have your testimony, and my word of honor to back you up."

"Ha-Has there been any word about...possibly...a _death _at Forsythe Manor?" Felicity bit her bottom lip nervously, thinking of Tristan Forsythe succombing to unconsciousness just before Lettie made her flee from the barn. "From the fire...maybe?"

"Are you referring to Tristan Forsythe?"

"Yes!"

"No." Lord Covington watched Felicity's gaze drop sharply in disappointment and fear. "I have only heard that he suffered burns to half of his face and inhaled a great deal of smoke."

Instictively terrified, Felicity forced herself to gulp despite a roughly dry throat. "He will come after me," she murmured mostly to herself, beginning to shiver. "He has killed Lettie, I know it. If the fire did not..._he _did."

The duke leaned forward in his seat. "Lord Tristan is in no condition to say anything to anyone for the time being. My solicitor informs me that he is on certain medications that keep him incapacitated due to the pain of his burns. The slave girl you mentioned...Lettie? I can have my solicitor try to find something out about her, but thus far I have been told that there were no deaths."

Felicity looked sick. She was, and not just in body, but in heart. "Lettie is a slave. The deaths of slaves do not matter to society."

"I beg to differ, Miss Merriman," Lord covington informed her with a cocked eyebrow. "Slavery is quickly becoming an intolerable outrage in Bristol. You must surely have heard of the protestors putting the pressure upon slaving companies to abandon their wicked businesses in favor of rights for the colored? These groups make it their business to know how slaves are being treated."

"But they may have found out too late," pointed out Felicity tightly."And Tristan will not be incapacitated forever, my lord. When he is able to speak he will tell anyone and everyone who will listen to him that Lettie and I tried to kill him. Which we did."

"Because he attacked the both of you," continued Lord Covington matter-of-factly. " 'Tis only natural that you defend yourselves when you are being attacked. It is what human beings do. And from the way you have described it, Tristan Forsythe is the most abominable of predators. Whatever ill you and your slave friend did unto him was well warranted!"

"Others will not see it that way," Felicioty told him darkly. She was not, for one minute, about to be convinced that the Forsythes were no longer a threat to her life and sanity. "Tristan has wealth and influence even if Reginald no longer does."

"Ah, but Tristan is not a duke, as I am!" The duke straightened, adjusting his waistcoat importantly. "A man of my rank can easily sway the local authorities in any direction he chooses! That is, actually, an unfortunate means of settling a matter, but fortunately _we _are the party who is in the right!" And both he and Mrs. Babcock simultaneously gave curt nods.

Felicity, at the moment, couldn't care less about how justice was done, or who-did-what-to-whom, only that both Reginald and Tristan were stopped from coming after her. And she wanted _some _confirmation on Lettie, whether the girl still lived or not. After a moment's heavy silence, Felicity asked uncertainly, "Why my lord, are you doing this?"

"Beg pardon?" He came forward in his seat again.

Felicity was already on the edge of her own. "I must ask, why are you so willing to go beyond average kindness for me? There are so many reasons why you really shouldn't..."

"And I do not see a single one of them! My wife, Evangeline, never could stand to see a person sad in her presence. She always went out of her way to make a person smile, which made me love her all the more just when I thought it wasn't _possible _to love her more. She watches over me, Miss Felicity. She would approve of my actions here." There was a pause in which he seemed to be carefully contemplating the words he would say next. "There was a time, not long before Reginald Forsythe's father passed away that Eve and I attended a dinner at his estate... I did not like the way Reginald's father looked upon my wife, with such...unnerving lust."

Saying this clearly made him uncomfortable. But Felicity merely became anxious again. "Well I know that look, Lord Covington! I had to deal with it day after day that I was there! The whole entire family is despicable, even to themselves!"

Eric Covington sighed again, rubbed his temples absently. "There is one other thing, Miss Merriman, I should inform you of. This...Mr. Gooch has apparently decided that your whereabouts are indeed here in Belhastings, for my servants have been approached by him in the village. I know the Babcocks would keep you safe to the best of their abilities here, but I would greatly prefer it if you would remain in my home until I can have a ship ready to go west. Would you agree to that?"

Felicity was literally dizzy by all of this. " "Bell-Hall'? That is the name of your home, my lord?"

"Yes, dear. It is my little hole in the ground."

Mrs. Babcock giggled girlishly in spite of herself, a hand flying up to cover her mouth.

"B-But the Babcocks have been so nice to me. They took such good care of me," Felicity protested lightly, looking from one to the other, clearly befuddled and feeling a touch guilty for being untrusting. "The children are so sweet..."

"You may see the children anytime you like," Mrs. Babcock gushed affectionately, giving Felicity's hand a warm squeeze. "The duke is just but around the hill! 'E is most generous in letting them play about on 'is property many a day, for 'tis known among the youngsters that 'is land has the very best woods for hidin' and seekin'!"

Felicity recalled the protective pine tree and its concealing limbs she'd crawled under to curl up and hide that awful night. She would have most likely froze to death had she not possessed the wits to seek shelter there. Good hiding indeed! But still, she felt obliged toward the Babcocks, who had endured her screaming and moaning for days as her body's craving for the powders took its toll on her. "Am I not adequately safe here at the cottage?"

"Perhaps," considered the duke, "but the risk of you being seen every time you step out of the cottage is great, as long as that is about. I will have him arrested for trespassing on my property if he dares to try it. Only children are allowed to hide on my land...children, and runaway damsels." It was another stab at humor, but it was lost on the torn young woman sitting across from him, and he wondered silently if he had been that remote after Evangeline died. He had felt like he'd never smile, laugh or find decency in anything ever again. But something about this girl made him want to _try_, for the first time in a long time.

"If you think it best," Felicity murmured, although reluctantly. She looked at the older woman . "And if you do not mind."

The older woman beamed sentimentally. "Of course I don' mind! Just come see the children if'n ye can. They never had a faerie queen in the house before."

The duke raised an eyebrow, smiling uncontrollably, as Felicity blushed profusely. After an awkward moment of trying to understand whatever this inside joke about faeries was, he cleared his throat and said, "Are there any belongings you need to gather before I escort you to Belhall?"

"Oh no," assured Felicity right away. "I have nothing but this lovely dress of Marvel-Anne's her mother loaned me."

"Which we want ye to keep, because it'll give Marvel-Anne something to brag about to the girls, having a mysterious lady-faerie-maybe princess-person of intrigue wear a dress of hers." Mrs. Babcock seemed pleased with that notion herself.

"That is very kind of you." Felicity smiled, a slight shade of the girl she used to be flickering over her face.

"Excellent." The duke rose, as did the ladies, straightening his coat and waistcoat again. "Then allow me to escort you to my home, Miss Felicity, where I shall proceed at once to find out which one of my ships that I have left is at Bristol, and then order the preparations be made for a voyage. Once you are settled, you may compose a letter to your family and I will have it sent by packet ship to the colonies. Is that agreeable with you?"

"Ye- Yes!' Felicity squeaked, her throat still at odds with her voice. "I would like that very much, Lord Covington!" She gulped unsteadily. "But what about Reginald Forsythe? And my friend Lettie?" _And damnable Tristan? If he is not dead, then he will come after me for revenge. I know he will._

"My reasoning about Reginald Forsythe is this: if he does not know where you are, then he cannot harass you. If you are willing to have him prosecuted before you leave for the colonies, then I can help you with that. Otherwise he will self-destruct in his own debts and financial ruin, and be utterly unable to hire a cab to follow you, much less leave the country. As I said, I can have my lawyer seek the whereabouts of your Lettie. _And _I can see that you are still worried about that beastly Tristan Forsythe. He will be dealt with accordingly if he poses any problem."

As Felicity rubbed her temples in astonishment, Lord Eric Covington turned to Mrs. Babcock and smiled right smartly. "Madame, I do believe it is time for me to reintroduce myself back into society!"

Mrs. Unguin Babcock clasped her hands together and exclaimed, "God be praised!"

* * *

The children were dismayed to see their 'secret faerie-lady' leave, but Felicity promised them a visit, and sealed that promise with a hug for each of them, including Mrs. Babcock, whose husband arrived home just in time to formerly greet and chat briefly with the still ashen-looking red-head. The squire was mighty pleased with the amount of moleskins he had sold in the village that morning and didn't mind at all letting the duke and Felicity know it.

He even extended an invitation to Felicity to come learn to whack moles with him some time.

Felicity insisted that she would prefer walking no matter how unsteady she stil felt rather than being up on a horse where she could easily spotted. The duke told her that they would cross through his fields, where they were less likely to be seen, but Felicity maintained her preference to walk. So Lord Covington preferred to walk as well. They set off into the fields behind the Babcock cottage since they adjoined his own property. Felicity felt awkward, walking with a ranked and highly respected aristocrat, but told herself mentally that he was still a person, just like any other.

They were quiet at first, but then Lord Covington said, "Ah, I see my sheep flocks up there."

"They do not spook easily, do they," Felicity suggested, recalling how they had not bolted that morning she had fallen over one.

"Oh nay, they do not. The Babcock children play with them quite often, and I myself enjoy watching over the lambs."

"So then, may I ask you a personal question, my lord?"

"Please do, Miss Merriman."

"You enjoy the company of the Babcocks and their children, but yet your own son is away from you. Aren't you lonely?" Only Felicity Merriman would have had the audacity to ask such a thing. But in her mind she figured she had nothing to lose. She wanted to know just how willing he was to help her when he knew how different she was than other women in this country. Actually, despite her powder-deprived illness still fading, she still felt like testing people.

"That _is _a rather personal question," Lord Covington replied, inhaling slow and deep.

"Then forgive me for asking it. But you do not seem to be the sort of person who prefers isolation to the company of people. I've known some people like that, and you do not seem begrudging."

Any other figure of rank might have been annoyed by that, but then other lords and aristocrats he'd known would never consent to walking through frost-dampened fields with a mysterious runaway, either. When Felicity did not say anything more, Lord Covington wondered if she'd gone silent so that the subject would no longer be pressed, but he found himslef quite uncomfortable with the girl's silence. It was actually _eerie_. Silence was an enemy, or so he had always thought; it made one's imagination run amok, allowed one's worries to get the better of him- or in this case, _her_. Incredibly, Eric Covington found himself _wanting _to engage the young lady in conversation, even if it _was _concerning the son he had isolated himself from.

"Thomas has his mother's eyes," he sighed at length as they slowly walked uphill, with Perks on their left and the dozens of sheep up ahead having ceased their grazing to watch the humans approach. "God bless him, he even cocks his head and _smiles _the way his mother did. Right after Evangeline died, it hurt for me to look upon him and see her likeness and not be able to hold her. 'Twas almost too much to bear. So I sent him to live with his grandparents, who adore him, but...even they insist that Thomas should not be deprived of _both _his parents."

"They are right," said Felicity, looking as though her mind had wandered elsewhere but sounding alert. She had been looking about for anything that might resemble a _Gooch_.

"Well...'twould seem I am finally coming to that conclusion myself, Miss Merriman, for I am finding it harder to live without him as each day passes."

She finally looked back at him, squinting from the noon-day sun in her eyes. "I would imagine he misses you, too, your Lordship. Why deprive either one of you of the others' company? 'Tis senseless."

He half-smiled at that, looking at her with a sense of admiration at her blunt way of speaking. "You Americans are an intrepid lot, aren't you?"

Felicity shrugged. "No matter whether we are rich or poor, titled or common, we are all still human beings who are affected by loss."

"Such wisdom for such a young lady!"

"Yes, well..." She felt her cheeks grow warm.

"Now 'tis _my _turn to ask the personal question. How is it that a lovely young girl has no one to come to her aid when a loathsome little stoat like Reginald Forsythe is trying to snatch her away?"

"I was alone. And sick." She swallowed uneasily, trying to remain emotinally distant. Thoughts of Ben, so handsome yet so angry, flashed through her mind, reminding her of _her _loss. "Forsythe planned it that way."

"All because you look like his deceased governess, whom he has supposedly murdered when he was but a boy." Eric shook his head in disgust. "Loathsome little man."

"Aye."

They were passing the sheep, who stared at them as they passed with twitching ears and stubby little tails and the occasional bleat. Perks snorted his greeting to the familiar ovines, who did not spook as he and the humans drew near, for the big white horse was as familiar to them as the grass they ate.

Felicity nodded toward the duke's horse. "He is a magnificent animal. Why do you call him 'Perks'?"

"Because his ears are always perked up, see?" The duke smiled at his beloved stallion. "Evangeline named him when I bought him as a colt. He adores attention, the mighty cad."

"That is obvious, for most of his tail has been plaited and tied with a pink bow."

"What?" He stopped, as did the horse and Felicity, turning about to stride to Perks's rear to get a look. Indeed, there was a thick white braid tied at the end with a lovely pink ribbon. "I say! Those sly little imps!" He turned his head and grinned at Felicity. "To think this horse was bred for battle!"

Felicity smiled the slightest bit.

They continued walking, coming at last to the hilltop, where Lord Covington stretched his arm out and said, "There. Down there is my lovely little hovel, Bel Hall."

"Why should you call your home such a..." Felicity stopped, catching sight of the so-called 'hovel.'

It utterly _dwarfed _Forsythe Manor.

It was a grand estate Felicity was gazing down upon from the hilltop; with magnificent columns lining the front. And it was a _wide_, breathtaking place, sprawling with grounds tended to far better than the Forsythe estate. The main mansion itself was dazzlingly white, the wings featuring a Greek influence that even from this distance Felicity could see was intricate. The gorgeous place was nestled quite snug in its valley, but yet seemed to have room enough for everything, including its huge barn and cottages of the caretakers, both of which had architecture hinting at Greek influence as well.

"Oh my..." Felicity breathed, her mouth unable to close. "It's _beautiful_."

"Thank you. Shall we go down to tea?"

Right away Felicity felt unworthy of being in such a place! She felt like an oddity, a servant of sorts, and that she had been rude and stupid in pressing the duke to talk about his son. _But_, she reminded herself persistantly, _'twas HE who asked you to stay here until a ship was ready to depart. He himself invited you. What in the world have you got to lose now?_

"Miss Felicity?" he inquired, concerned with her sudden silence.

She gulped, still unable to come out of her unexpected stupor. "Um, yes. Certainly, why not?"

Eric Covington grinned, enjoying the effect all the hard work he'd put into having his family's home modified reflected in the young girl's wide green eyes. Evangeline had been his driving force behind the reconstruction he'd overseen right after their engagement. They started down the hill, minding where they stepped so as to not step into any mole holes or sheep droppings. Felicity wavered all of a sudden when she felt a nudge at her right leg that nearly made her stumble. Gentleman that he was, Eric instictively grabbed one of her flailing arms to keep her from going down as she whirled about to see what it was that had bumped her. It was a sheep.

"Well now, how about that!" exclaimed the duke with a bewildered smile. "Would you suppose that is the very woolley you toppled over the morning I found you?"

Felicity turned bright red. "I would not know, your lordship. They all look...the...same." Her words had slowed as she saw that the obviously friendly ovine was at the head of several other sheep, all coming close to Felicity, bunching around, carrying on as if this was their normal behavior, which it was not.

Even Perks, with his ever-perked up ears, stared at the clustering ewes with wonder.

"What is this?" Eric was actually on the verge of laughing. A hand slipped under his aristocratic tricorn to scratch the top of his noggin. "Who are you who has enchanted my sheep?"

"I've done nothing of the sort!" Felicity told him, once more plunged into total befuddlement. "I am no witch!"

"Forgive me, Miss Merriman," he chuckled lightly, "I was not accusing you, I was merely speaking in jest. Do not look so stricken!" He nodded at at the flock. "They never show such enthusiasm for me or my groundskeepers, so I am inclined to be the slightest bit jealous!" He meant to be jovial (after all, _sheep _were involved), but the girl was still unsmiling, prompting the duke to wonder how affected by her experiences at Forsythe Manor she truly was is hse was unable to laugh at sheep. In the past year, even he, who had sworn off happiness after his beloved wife's death, had been able to laugh at _sheep_.

"Well, then, let us _all _go down to tea," he suggested, maintaining his air of open cheefulness. He took Felicity's arm courteously and held to Perks's reins, and they continued on down the hill, with an entire flock of white, four-footed clouds following closely behind. Both Felicity and the Lord Covington kept looking back over their shoulders at the comedic sight, to see if they were indeed still following, and indeed they were.

Every now and then Felicity would feel another nudge or bump against one of her legs, but she didn't respond with anxiety or surprise any more. In fact, when the duke glanced at her to see exactly how she _was _responding, he saw that she was staring at the ground as they walked, biting her lip, trying very hard _not _to smile.

And that made Eric Covington smile even wider.

* * *

Author's Gab: Ben arrives in Bristol next chapter. In chapters after _that_, he will be reunited with Felicity, and as a writer I am trying to prepare for the emotional tornado that's coming. I feel that after I've brought them together and after what I'm planning on happening happens, I am going to need REST!


	19. Chapter 19:Bel Hall, Bristol and Ben

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE Pt3, Ch19: Bel Hall, Bristol, and Ben

As they came off the hilltop and into the tree-filled part of the valley between them and the duke's mansion, it occurred to Felicity that the two of them being follwed closely by a now large flock of happy sheep would surely attract attention on way or the other. She expressed her concern verbally. "If someone sees us, your Lordship..."

"Nonsense!" replied Lord Covington with playful haughtiness. "If it is the foul Mr. Gooch you are worried about, then worry not! You have an entire army of the fiercest sheep in England at your heels to protect you, my dear!" And as if to reinforce his comedic notion, another nose bumped Felicity's closest leg.

She was trying awfully hard not to smile. "Perhaps they are convinced that I am one of the Babcock children."

"Mayhaps. And mayhaps not. Sheep are curious creatures, Miss Merriman.' He looked ahead of them, where the path cleared and the manor was just beyond. "Oh ho! 'Twould seem we have indeed attracted attention, for there comes my head groundskeeper, Jones. Hullo, Jones!" He waved to an older man dressed for yard work. But even the older man, servant that he was, was dressed in impressive working garb. Beneath his black tricorn was long grey hair pulled back into a neat queue and dark brown eyes that looked amiable. The man waved back at eric as the distance was quickly closed.

"Mornin', your Grace," said Jones good-naturedly, takin a bow, taking in the sheep amassing about them, and the rather tense-looking young lady with red hair stopping just short of him as the duke continued close to shake his gloved hand. "You seemed to have more than ye started out with!"

Eric smiled a little shyly, immediately reminding Felicity of the way Ben used to smile at her. "So it would seem, my good man. I would like to introduce you to my new friend, Miss felicity Merriman, from the American colonies. She will be residing here under my protection until one of my ships can take her home. Miss Merriman, this is my friend and head groundskeeper, Anthony Jones."

The man called Jones removed his tricorn and bowed again graciously. "Pleased to meet ye, Miss!"

Felicity curtsied uncertainly, doing her very best to be polite. She barely trusted this duke, and wasn't exactly willing to extend that slim trust beyond him just yet. It made her feel rotten, to be so suspicious of people these days. For all she knew these could be the most generous people in England...or not. Time would tell. And it burned her own soul to know that she had become so reluctant. She had become a stranger unto her self. "Nice to meet you, sir," was all the reply she could summon.

"Oh call me Jones, Miss, evr'one does!" He looked around at the gathered sheep. "Dunno where ol' Dudley's gotten to. It's his job to keep these wooleys rounded up! Dudley's our herd dog, Miss. Gettin' on in years, but he's never let me down before." Jones rubbed the back of his neck wonderingly. "Anyways, I hope you'll give the gardens a visit while yer here, Miss. It may be winter an' all, but the holly's beautiful."

"Thank you, I would like to."

"Have you ever seen the like?" eric grinned, gesturing wide with an arm. "They have all taken to Miss Merriman as if she was their mistress!"

Jones grinned back at him. "Happy sheep grows good wool, your Grace."

Eric's eyebrows went up. "You don't say!"

"Eh...no. I reckon not. But it _could _be true!"

A fluffy white ewe came around Felicity and halted itself right against her knees. Without thinking, she reached down and stroked the top of its head. Absently she said, "It just _might _be true."

The duke couldn't help but grin at her, too. "Indeed! Perhaps you have brought good luck along with you, Miss Felicity."

Felicity immediately opened her mouth to respond in the negative, to claim that if his suggestion were true, Lettie would be here with her and Ben Davidson would still love her. But she shut her mouth and said nothing, giving her attention to the sheep in front of her. Lord Covington sensed right away that she saw no humor or belief in his suggestion and wondered if she had started feeling ill again, for her face had lost what little color that had begun to return to it.

"We'll leave these wooleys in your capable hands," he said, taking Felicity's arm once more (she looked at him quizzically). "I have contacts and arrangements to make, and I'm sure Miss Merriman would like to get settiled in. Good day to you, Jones."

"Good day, your Grace. Miss Merriman." Jones removed his tricorn and bowed once more. He used his long arms to wave and shoo the sheep back from Felicity and the duke as the two continued on toward the mansion with Perks in tow. Jones had to dart and swing a leg at the sheep to try to keep them from hurrying after Felicity. A loud yapping, black and white border collie streaked out of nowhere, past Felicity and Eric, to join Jones in his ridiculous dance to get the sheep going back to the hillside. Felicity heard Jones shout, "Where ye been, Dudley? Get along, ye wily wooleys! Wot's got inter ever'one?"

Lord Covington chuckled.

The treed path between hill and estate gave way to the breathtaking mansion the duke called home. It was a three-story manor, its decor reflecting both Greek and Georgian influences. Unlike Forsythe Manor, Bel Hall from the outside gave the impression that it was roomy on the inside. Six grand columns, mighty as they were, did not give the impression of gloom and severity as those at the Forsythe house. The long porch that extended from end to end of the jutting center section of the house made for an excellent place to sit outside and look down the _also _long, rectangular grass lawn that must have been half a mile between house and gate, trimmed on either side by painstakingly neat boxwood hedges. The front of the manor was lined with rose bushes, that Felicity quietly marveled must look beautiful all bloomed out in the spring.

Lord Covington saw her staring at the rose bushes and smiled humbly. "Evangeline tended those roses herself, Miss felicity. She insisted that the job be hers alone. If you are wondering what their colors are, I can assure you that Eve chose only the brightest colors; yellows, pinks, some manner of orange that comes from France...I wish you could be here when they bloom again. One simply cannot gaze upon my wife's work and not be moved."

Felicity was quiet a moment, then looked at him curiously. "That is why you are helping me...Because its what your wife would have wanted you to do, wasn't it." It was not a question, but a suggested assumption.

"Yes. I will not deny it. As I said at the Babcock cottage, Eve would have never stood to see someone sad and scared in her presence. Therefore, nor can I. She would have gone out of her way to see you reunited with your family. 'Twas simply the kind of person she is. _Was_," he corrected himself, emotion attempting to clog his throat.

"You loved her tremendously." _Well of COURSE he did, nitwit! _Felicity scolded herself incredulously. _Such a flair for the obvious you have there, old girl!_

"I still do," Eric said quietly, albeit with a smile. "Come now, let's get you settled in." He took her elbow gently and led her toward the lengthy porch, which had but five steps going up to it all around. Felicity felt immensely small and out-of-sorts, like she ought to be wearing a fancy ball gown in order to be allowed entrance to the place.

Lord Covington had meant to tie Perks's reins to a lampiron near the porch and summon a stable boy to fetch the big stallion, but there came running from the direction of the barn a young, fresh-faced boy of about thirteen, with blue eyes blazing to take the horse's reins. He slowed to a quick stride, lest he plow right into his master. He gave an equally quick bow, removing his tricorn hastily. "Sorry I didn't see you coming sooner, your Grace," he panted apologetically. "Tim and I were having a time with Althea!"

"Althea is my new brood mare," Eric explained to Felicity. "She is still nervous around people." To the youngster he said, "Just be patient with her, Sam. She'll come around. Here you go! Perks has had quite enough attention this morning from human and sheep alike. And this is Miss Merriman; she'll be staying with us a little while."

"A pleasure, Miss Merriman," said young Sam, tipping his hat again.

Felicity smiled and nodded politely.

"Sam, please remove that pink ribbon from my horse's tail, will you? It might give the mares the wrong impression."

Sam grinned as he took the reins from his master. "Certainly, your Grace!" He bowed again and attended to Perks while the duke led Felicity on up the steps.

Felicity gave the duke a worried look, and waited until Sam was gone before she inquired, "Pardon me, your lordship, but should be telling _all _of your staff my name?"

"There is no reason not to," he replied confidently. "They are my servants. I trust them explicitly and they know it. They also know that if they were to betray my trust not only would they find themselves without a job, but I could make life extremely hard for them afterward as well. Fortunately, most of my servants have been with me since long before I met Evangeline. Like Mr. Jones that _you _just met, They know me as I know them. We are a family of sorts, and one does not betray family."

Felicity sighed bitterly. "It is not that way at Forsythe Manor."

"That, my dear, does not surprise me."

She nodded, a little more relieved. She wanted desperately to have faith in his words, but she couldn't seem to get past her own reluctance. A sigh escaped her frowning mouth as the duke led her to the double doors, both of which featured gleaming brass handles and beautiful holly wreaths on each door. It gave a nice winter touch to the already impressive place, very unlike Forsythe Manor. Yultide bows could be tied all over Reginald's house and it would _still _feel like a tomb, Felicity mused.

She had expected the inside of Bel hall to look a lot like Forsythe's interior, but when Lord eric swung the double oaken doors inward, allowing her to enter first, she drew in her breath in awe. It was magnificent, truly magnificent. a place fit for a princess- nay, a _duchess_- named Evangeline. The striking foyer was airy, with high walls and a high ceiling decorated with splendid high-quality rococo plasterwork. The walls were a pale green. But the thing that impressed Felicity Merriman the most upon entering was a feature she had never seen before in any house she'd ever been in: a domed skylight! It simply illuminated all of the foyer and most of the grand, wide, white marble staircase.

Lord Covington smiled to himself as he closed the double doors, both of which were painted white and richly paneled.

"Its..it's _beautiful_," Felicity murmured softly.

It gave him a swell of pride to hear such a compliment on his late wife's tastes. "Why, thank you. But you will give yourself the neck stabs if you continue looking up like that."

She blushed, turned to look about at more of the decor, such as paintings of exotic outdoor places that were full of color, the elaborate carvings around entryways, the marble floor, which was not entirely bare, for large exotic-looking rugs in shades of green and blue covered most of it. An aqua-blue Grecian urn sat in a single wall recess- but it was not at all like Reginald's collection of forboding Mediterranean oddities. This was a beautiful vase, with white grapes adorning its neck above a scene of Greek festivity.

"That's just one of many things I brought back from my Grand Tour. I absolutely loved Greece. The people there were so vibrant and healthy."

Felicity nodded passively as she gazed next at the large painting of a sea-side in some splendid place unknown to her. But probably Greek, she assumed, seeing as how the main influence here _was _Greek. It featured hills and exotic-looking trees. She was immediately compelled to ask questions about the place in the painting, but didn't get a chance to, for in walked a tall, sharply-dressed fellow of about fifty-some in age. He wore spectacles and a short peruke wig, and had an easy-mannered look about him as he went to Eric and bowed briefly.

"We were wondering where you had gotten to this morning, your Grace," he said well-manneredly. "Tea is served!" He looked at Felicity standing at the painting and bowed again. "Good day, Miss!"

"Lazlo, my good man, this is Miss Felicity Merriman from the Colonies. She is to be our guest for a while."

"Ah, yes, the young lass you found on the hillside," affirmed the man, with an acknowledging smile. Felicity had tensed- her natural reaction these days- and was not too keen on a complete stranger knowing about her without _her _knowing of him. She looked at the duke, her expression demanding explanation.

"Felicity, this is my head man, or butler, if you will, Mr. Lazlo Bevins. Laz has been with me since i was old enough to have my first shave! He is a completely reliable chap. I trust him with my life."

As the butler blushed, Felicity wondered, _Aye, but can I trust him with mine? _But as soon as she thought it, her feelings turned self-loathing. _Oh good God, I never used to be like this! I hate it! I used to like people. I used to like myself. Now I am a souless statue and everyone I meet is evil! If I ever do return to Williamsburg again I will not know how to carry on around people, not that my reputation is worth a shilling anymore. Will I _ever _be normal again?_

"Pleased to meet you," Felicity said emotionlessly, curtsying without thinking.

"The pleasure is all mine, young Miss. Welcome to Bel Hall." He bowed for her, and Felicity felt nervous all over, for she was not used to anyone bowing to her so graciously like this. "Will you be joining us for tea?"

Not knowing how to respond to that, Felicity looked to the duke for her answer. Any other time she would hate having someone answer for her, but as lousy as she still felt, she didn't mind at all.

"Miss Merriman would like to get comfortable, first, Laz," Eric said gently. "Tell Magdaline to bring her up some hot tea, scones, muffins, whatever our guest desires. By the way, where _is _Magda-?"

"Oh I'm right here, laddie! Ye'd fall apart if'n it weren't fer me!" From one of the many open, arched entryways branching off from the foyer came a rotund, bustling older woman clad in a maid's grey garb, but even as a maid her clothing was very well-to-do; lacy and lovely underneath a frilly apron. She had rosy cheeks, motherly brown eyes and a head full of grey but naturally curly hair that seemd to defy the frilly mobcap stuck on top of it. Felicity's first impression was that the woman could be a relative of Unguin Babcock.

"Indeed I would, Maggie," the duke chuckled. "Felicity, this is Magdaline, or _Maggie, _as she prefers. She's as dear to me as my own late mum! If not for her, I would've broken my neck sliding down those very banisters there when I was a lad."

"An' I am _not _convinced that ye've outgrown the habit!" scolded Maggie, wagging her motherly plump finger at him.

"Ah, yes, I am still a handful, am I not? Maggie, my dear, this is Miss-"

"Felicity Merriman from His Majesty's Colonies! I know, I know! I heard you an' Laz blatherin' as I was comin' from the kitchen!" Maggie bustled forward and clasped both of Felicity's small white hands in her larger tanned ones, which were worn from years of household duties. "I'm Maggie, m'love, I'll see ye in comfortably. Come with me."

Felicity did not object as Maggie took her arm companionably and led her to the beautiful white staircase. Behind them, still standing with his butler, the duke called, "She hasn't been here but a moment, and you seek to deprive me of my guest?"

"Aye, that's right!" returned Maggie, not even stopping to look around as she and Felciity started up the stairs. "How often do we get a lady visitor anymore?"

Felicity wanted to protest. "But I'm not a- "

"Oh shush, now. Ev'ry girl's a lady." Louder, to the duke and Lazlo she called, "She's a thin as a rail! She needs looking after!"

Eric looked at Lazlo and grinned. "She has found female company. We shant see Miss Merriman ever again!"

Lazlo laughed in agreement. " 'Tis been quite a while since she's had someone to fuss over, what with her daughter married off. Your guest seems to have all of the qualifications of filling that daughterly void, your Grace."

He clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Laz, let's you and me have that nice hot tea. I've got some contacts with old friends to renew and I need your help."

"Certainly, my lord."

* * *

_Then the rainstorm came, over me  
And I felt my spirit break  
I had lost all of my belief, you see  
And realized my mistake  
But time threw a prayer to me  
And all around me became still  
I need love, love's divine  
Please forgive me now I see that I've been blind  
Give me love, love is what I need  
to help me know my name  
-lyrics from 'Love's Divine' by Seal  
_  
March 1782

The ship had been blown off course several times by difficult windstorms and had been making for the western coast of Ireland, but the crew of the _Titania _had gotten her back on course after a great deal of struggle. Benjamin Davidson felt assured that God had meant for him to make it to Bristol, England so that he could find his beloved. He had banished from his thoughts all of the taunting 'what if's' and the menacing 'maybe she's not here anymore's', so that he could dwell on the only thought that did matter: He was getting closer and closer to where Felicity was. From the moment the _Titania _entered the Bristol Channel he was up on deck, standing at the railing on the forecastle beside the bowsprit, as if he was already scanning the shores for her.

And now here he was, standing on the Bristol quay as the sun was beginning to set in a partly cloudy sky, giving everything a reddish gold glow and casting long shadows in an unfamiliar city. He was already tensed, his mood urgent. He was waiting for Arthur Pratt and the rowmen to assist Elizabeth Cole up out of the boat that had brought them from the Titania along with their meagre bags. The three of them had hidden on their persons enough money to purchase anything they required on land, but as far as Ben was concerned his only requirement for survival was Felicity.

Now Elizabeth and Arthur were very much aware that Ben wanted to set off for Forsythe Manor just as soon as they all set foot on the quay. They had acknowledged between the two of them that he would be difficult to reason with once they got ashore, for he had seemed to be building up emotionally during the trip, and they were prepared to deal with any sort of frustrations he was reasy to vent. He'd always been the quiet sort, who kept things hidden inside most of the time...but even Ben Davidson had a breaking point. He looked very ready to achieve it.

Once Elizabeth was up on the boardwalk, she and Arthur immediately spoke to the British lieutenant who had come on shore with them about securing rooms for the night. He would see them to the Stag's Head Inn, a place of decent repute where the delightful 'Mrs. Elizabeth Pratt, her husband and accompanying friend' would be well taken care of. It had occured to young Ben that they might be able to get help from the British soldier about finding Felicity, but Elizabeth had advised against it. She apparently had other plans for going about getting Felicity back and he was anxious to get started.

Arthur Pratt had been a sickly shade of green the entire trip and needed to be on solid ground awhile, as well as needing a good night's sleep. Elizabeth herself, having been able to endure the trip far better than her fiance, was utterly worn out. In order to help Ben find Felicity, the two Brits needed at least a night to collect themselves, Getting Ben to understand that would not be easy.

While the redcoated lieutenant went to get them a carriage to the inn, Ben could not keep still: he paced like a pent up lion, back and forth in front of Elizabeth and Arthur, his eyes constantly moving, looking for Felicity, Forsythe, anything at all that might be of some use to him. A middle-aged man with a lantern and a long pole was going from lamp post to lamp post, lighting the whale-oil lamps that dotted the quay here and there in preparation of the oncoming night. As he passed Elizabeth and Arthur with a nod and a tip of his hat, Ben glared at him as if he were someone to be suspicious of.

Underneath the long black cloak he wore, one of his gloved hands rested upon his holstered dragoon pistol. He was ready for anything.

"Ben," Elizabeth began as kindly as she could (considering that she felt as if she were still afloat), "I know you want to start looking for Lissie immediately, but you need to rest first. All three of us do. We'll _all _feel better after a hot dinner and decent night's sleep without being tossed from a cot."

"Fine, then. You rest," he grumbled absently whilst pacing. "_I _will find out where the damned manor is and break the door down myself.'

Elizabeth sighed. "Ben, you cannot just go bursting into the guarded home of a lord, making demands. You will not be helping Felicity any by getting yourself thrown into a gaol! Listen to me. We need to go about this in an intelligent manner, so that we can get Felicity away _safely_."

"The time for 'intelligence' is long past, Beth! If we had been intelligent in the first place, none of this would be happening. We wouldn't need to _be _here! If you and Arthur want to eat and sleep, go right ahead. I can do neither as long as I am so close to getting Felicity back!"

When Arthur spoke he sounded queasy but logical. "_You _need sleep more than either one of us do, my friend. I am convinced that you did not sleep at all, storms or not. 'Twould not be any help to Felicity if you were to fall ill, either."

He gestured wildly, crazily, and snapped, "Well what am I supposed to do, Arthur, now that we are here? Wait for Forsythe to come to _us_? How can you even _suggest _letting Felicity endure yet another night under that bastard's roof? God only knows what she is having to endure even now as we speak!"

The quays and boardwalks were not as busy as they were during the day, but yet there a few roaming people around, either going home or closing up their meagre little shops and pubs. Heads were turning in their direction, but no one approached them. As dangerous as Ben was getting and as tired as she was, Elizabeth silently thanked the lord there were not very many people still out. "Please, Ben," she attempted again, "do not be so cross with us. We know how you feel, truly we do! Yes, we _are _here now, and we will do whatever it takes to get to Felicity. But we cannot do a decent thing for her if we are all dead on our feet!"

"I'm fine," he assured them, with a touch of underlying insantiy in his tone. He was actually trembling with anger and frustration. "But if I have to go alone, mark me, I will!"

Elizabeth and Arthur looked at one another and sighed hopelessly. "Mayhaps we will have to conk him with a brick," Arthur suggested. "Whereabouts does one find a brick on a quay, in the near-dark? At this hour?"

"Not funny, Arthur," Ben scowled grumpily.

"Look," Elizabeth said to them tightly, "here comes Lieutenant Rogers with a carriage. Ben, you _will _behave civily and come with us to the inn. There you will have a decent meal and we will talk in private about what we are to do tomorrow, first thing in the morning. Can you at least _try _to manage that?"

Arthur appealed to him as well. "Please, young Benjamin, do not argue with an irate woman. Things are foul enough as it is!"

"Not funny, Arthur," scolded Elizabeth, very much like a wife.

With tremendous reluctance Ben bit his tongue and got into the carriage with his friends, while the helpful lieutenant sat up top with the driver. A lantern was lit inside the carriage, swaying crazily as the carriage rattled over cobblestones, and even seemed to be going uphill for a few minutes. He wondered if Felicity had been taken this way, if she had been able to be aware of her surroundings at all. What had her state of mind been like? He had spotted the tall, impressive steeple of St. Mary Redcliffe in the not-so-far-off distance, and, oblivious of the name of the church it belonged to, wondered if Felicity had seen it, too. Oh how knotted his insides were at the thought of being close to Forsythe Manor and not doing anything right at this moment! His body felt extremely heavy and tired, but he believed himself to be deserving of whatever pain was inflicted upon him. How in the world was he to sleep this night, knowing that Felicity was not far off. Was she able to sleep?

And it hurt so deeply to know that Felicity would not know anything about them being here to fetch her home. She was probably convinced that no one was coming for her at all. 'Twas himself he hated. From the looks of Elizabeth's face in the taunting, swirling light, she was deep in unmeasurable self-loathing and guilt as well. Arthur just looked physically sick. Sea voyages did not agree with him at all.

_I'm here, Lissie, my love. I am coming to get you and take you home, and we are going to be married and begin to live our lives together as we should have already been doing!  
_Somehow he was not reassuring to himself. Somehow he felt that the damage he had inflicted that horrible day and the nightmare she'd been forced to endure would have taken its toll on the Felicity that she used to be. He feared that she would be drastically different. But it didn't matter as far as his love for her and his longing for her was concerned. Oh no, nothing could change that. They belonged together just as sure as the sun rose everyday, rain or shine. He was hers forever.

But would she still want to be his?


	20. Chapter 20:Ben On The Move

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Pt3 Ch20: Ben On The Move

Ben Davidson couldn't sleep. His anxiety, impatience and longing for Felicity was too much to bear. It hadn't really sunk in that he was actually _in _England. Oh sure, he was _aware _of it, but nothing would truly sink into his brain until he had Felicity back in his arms. _Then _life would have meaning again. Then he could eat, sleep and breathe normally again. But as of now there would be no sleep for him. At least his tossing and turning had not bothered poor Arthur Pratt; the still sea-sickened blond Brit was apparently having nightmares about being aboard the _Titania_, for he was clutching the covers up to his chin and moaning absurdities like "All hands!" and "Ahoy, ye!" in his fitful sleep.

Ben and Arthur were instructed to share a room, as was Elizabeth with some other female visitors. The Stag's Head Inn was a decent, clean, respectfully run establishment, and even though the inn-mistress believed Arthur and Elizabeth to be the married couple they were posing as, even married couples were required to sleep apart. The ladies had the ground floor, the gentlemen recieved the top floor of the three-story building. It was warm and well-tended, although the rooms were small. Arthur most likely felt he was still in a ship's cabin.

Ben could not sleep, so therefore he ceased trying to. He quietly slipped out of bed, still clad in his shirt and breeches, although his shirt was untucked. He pulled on his riding boots and quit the room without bothering the already bothered Arthur Pratt any further. He closed the rrom's door behind him quietly and headed for the glow of firelight coming up from the stairwell at the end of the hall.  
He had nary a clue as to what he would do now that he was up and about. All of his instincts screamed 'go to Forsythe Manor and get Felicity out of there!' But he didn't know where Forsythe manor was! Lady Templeton had told him something about it being just outside of the city to the north. Using the skills for maneuvering around in the dark he had learned from Harry Lee, he was quite certain he could follow a road with no problem. Judging it to be the _right _road going north out of Bristol was the problem, for according to the passing conversation between Elizabeth and the helpful Lieutenant Rogers there was more than one. So whether he liked it or not, he required help.

Which was why Arthur and Elizabeth were with him. Well, _part _of the reason anyway. They could ask for help and get it without rousing suspicion, or having to beat it out of someone, which was the method Ben was opting for in producing speedy results. Elizabeth's way was probably the better way, he reasoned reluctantly with himself. _I cannot help Felicity if I end up in an English I have waited far too long as it is!_

The glow of firelight brough him down to the ground floor, into the little cozy sitting room. It had a magnificent stone fire place that made the room look smaller than it actually was. 'Twas obvious that the innkeeper was a woman, for there were feminine touches dominating the decor, such as the pinks and mauves in the upholstered sitting chairs and sofas, lacy doilies and a painting of a vase of pink and white flowers above the mantelpiece. But there were masculine touches, too. such as the dark wood of the furniture and the fireplace itself in its bold stony sharpness.

And in the slender elderly man sitting beside it with a book in his lap, spectacles down on his nose, for he had nodded off whilst reading. The inn-mistess's husband, Ben assumed. He stepped closer to the sleeping gentleman, cocked his head to try to see if the man was all right there, dozing like that. And the man must have sensed someone watching him, for he started and woke, jolting himself so suddenly that his glasses fell from his nose and ont ot he book in his lap.

"Eh? Something the matter, lad?"

"No sir. I know that its past your inn-curfew, but I couldn't sleep. I felt that I needed to be up, that I had to think. I appologize for waking you."

"Not English, are you?" The old gentleman nodded at the sitting chair across from his by the fire. "Sit yourself and tell me where you're from."

Ben quickly sat, grateful that he had not been mistaken for a rougish thief, for his hair was loose and a bit untidy from his tossing and turning. "I'm from the American colonies, sir. I arrived with my friends, the Pratts, just this evening."

"Ah, yes. Nice young couple. How is it you came to travel with 'em, if you don't mind me asking." The old gent had picked up his spectacles and put them on again.

As far as Ben was concerned, he had nothing to loose in speaking the truth. He had nothing to loose at all if he did not have Felicity. So he leaned forward upon his elbows and replied, "I don't, sir. They are two of my dearest friends. They're helping me find my fiance. She was taken away by force and brought here to Bristol...or someplace right outside of it."

The old man scratched his stubbly chin. "Sorry to hear that, lad. When I saw ye go upstairs with lookin' all troubled, I thought it was due to my wife's cookin'." Ben only smiled meagerly in response to that, so the man went on. "Zelda's not a _bad _cook, but she's nary a great one, either."

"The roast was fine," Ben commented emptily. He looked into the fire and sighed.

"Talked to a constable yet, lad?" the man wanted to know.

"No sir. Eliza-Mrs. Pratt, that is, thinks that is what we should do first; get the authorities to assist us. I do not think I can wait that long. I am near to where my fiance supposed to be, and I am about to go out of my mind." He ran a shaky hand through his long brown hair and shook his head miserably.

"You don't say." Suddenly roused, the old gent laid his book aside on a doily-covered table away from the fire, finding the American colonist's angst much more intriguing than _The Expedition of Humphry Clinker, _which he had been reading for the tenth time. He too, sat forward. "Where's your woman supposed to be located, boy?"

Ben looked at him a moment, contemplating on how much to tell the old fellow, but then shrugged. Forsythe couldn't possibly have spies and henchmen everywhere, it just wan't possible. "As far as we know, she was taken to Forsythe Manor by Lord Forsythe himself. I mean to go there and get her back, and no one is to stop me."

The old man rubbed his chin and looked positively mesmerized. " 'Forsythe Manor,' you say...Hmmm, seems I've heard that place mentioned recently...Wait here, boy. Let me see about something."

Ben watched with held breath and widened eyes as the man rose with a grunt and a bit of required effort, (for his bones were not what they used to be), and left the room. He heard the man shuffling around in the thin slippers he was wearing, the shuffling growing faint for a moment, then returning. Ben stood up immediately, stiff with anxiety as the man came back into the room carrying the rumpled paper that was the _Bristol Journal_. He gulped as the old fellow crossed to the fireplace to see by better light as he ruffled through it.

"Sir...you wouldn't happen to _know _Reginald Forsythe, would you?" Ben inquired, his voice nearly cracking under the strain of anxiety, as he watched the old man adjust the spectacles and lean toward the light of the fire in order read.

"No, boy, I don't. The working class cares very little about the high and mighty unless they've got something to gain or there's gossip for the women. Now let me see here..." Time seemed to stand still while he gazed up and down at the articles. Ben bit his lip and tried to remain still. "I know I'd heard that name before. Could've sworn...Ah, here it is!"

"What, where?" Ben was immediately beside the old fellow, his breathing suspended as his brown eyes raced all over the page.

"Right here." A wrinkled, seventy year-old finger pointed out a few lines that barely made a paragraph under an article heading that read _Local Misfortunes_. Aloud the old man read, "Fire at the estate of Lord Reginald Forsythe consumes barn and injures one. No livestock reported harmed but one cart horse reported missing. Also reported missing is the Mrs. Forsythe and a female Negro slave-"

"A _fire_?" Ben cried out, his face going ashen and his mouth agape. "My God, there was a fire! Does it say who the injured person was?"

"Calm down, now, lad, or you'll wake the whole building." The old fellow peered closely at the page again and said, "No, it don't say. This issue is about a month old, though. There have probably been updated articles since this one came out, but this is the only _'Journal _we got layin' around. I would reckon that there's a reward being offered for the slave and for the Missus, too. That's usually how those things go..."

"His mother," mumbled Ben without even realizing he himself had spoken aloud, for his shock-stricken brain was focused on the word _injured_, and not on the possibility that the "Mrs." just might be Felicity. It only vaguely registered in his sleep-deprived mind that Reginald Forsythe had an ill mother who had been mentally distraught since the death of her husband. He was imagining all manner of horrible 'injuries' one could sustain in a fire.

"Doesn't say anything about an American lass being missing, but that don't mean there aint nothing to your story. For what it's worth, lad, I believe you, 'cause I don't put nothin' past the high and mighty. Why, they make better criminals and villains than poor folks!"

Ben gulped unsteadily. "I need to know exactly where Forsythe Manor is- I've been told it is to the north, just outside of the city. Is there a road that can take me there?" There was a frightened tremor in his voice, and he was back to imagining all sorts of wretched scenarios.

"There's more than one road out of town going north, but ye won't have any luck going this late. First of all its cold and dark. Second of all, there's bound to be at least one highway man just waitin' for someone ignorant enough to be out when its all wicked outside like it is. No, you best wait until dawn, when you have light to see by and a horse to use."

Ben was stunned. "You would loan me a horse?"

"Eh, why not? You aint takin' it back to the colonies are you?"

"No sir!" Ben swallowed hard, his heart seemingly up in his throat. He was another step closer to Felicity! "I am good with horses. All I want is Felicity back."

"Heh! So it appears. Now how about you turnin' in again? You won't do anyone any good staying up all night worrying." The old man rubbed his chin again. "You sure ye won't wait to take a constable out there with you?"

That's what Elizabeth wanted to do. Get the local authorities and go out to Forsythe Manor _en masse_. That way none of Reginald's goons could draw weapons upon them or put up any resistence. Ben thought quickly, quicker than he ever had before. Faster than when he had been in the war, even. _This _was a far graver war than the one he had just left. This was for his sanity, his future, his very existence. This was for _Felicity_.

"Sir, if I may," he entreated desperately, stepping forward with a gesture of reproach, "I need to know the way to Forsythe Manor! I need to leave at the first sign of dawn-and to leave a message for my friends to let them know where I've gone. Felicity is in danger there! She had been in danger ever since she was abducted from Williamsburg, no thanks to myself. Every moment that has passed and is _still _passing just makes everything worse! I cannot bear to be this close to where she is and not do anythng!"

The old man contemplated Ben for a moment, noting the utter anguish and the pleading in the younger man's emotion-filled brown gulped. "I've crossed that murderous ocean very willing to die to get Felicity back. You just don't understand, sir! All of this is because of me! If I hadn't been so hot-headed and self-pitying-" _Oh stop it, Benjamin Davidson! _he snarled at himself mentally. _THIS is not the time for idiotic self-pity, either, you lackwit! _He held a hand up, more so to steady himself rather than calm the gentleman's startled expression. "I am here, _now_, very close to where Felicity is being kept against her will. I _cannot _be stopped from getting to her, no matter what! I just need only a little help."

The man held Ben's gaze for only a moment longer before crossing the room to a writing desk. From out of a drawer he withdrew a piece of blank parchment, quill, and ink pot. He gestured to the unlit candlestick on the desk top. "There, boy, light that. Write your friends whatever message it was you wanted to write and I'll see that they get it." Ben gaped as the old man started for the doorway again. "Gotta go wake up young Rollie- he's our stable-boy, ye see. He knows places. He better not complain about being roused, it aint like he's an old scarecrow like me..." And he had shuffled out of the room, leaving an astonished Ben Davidson staring after him in surprise.

But then he got busy. He sat down at the desk, on the edge of the chair, not even bothering to light the candlestick; the light of the comforting fire was more than enough for his youthful eyes to see by. He wrote in haste, hoping his handwriting was legible enough for Elizabeth and Arthur to understand, for his hand was shaking with nervous excitement. He would have to dash upstairs to fetch the things he would need, such as his winter clothing, cloak, gloves, hat...dragoon pistol.

He left the folded parchment in the care of the old man, who's name he had learned was Abel Weatherby, with Arthur and Elizabeth _Pratt's _name on it, and left Arthur still sleeping like a disconforted puppy (_"Man overboard, man over board!" _mumbled the blond Brit as Ben left with his things). He did his best not to wake anyone, jogging out to the small barn where four visitors' horses and two of the Weatherby's horses were kept. There he met thirteen year old, ginger-haired, freckle-faced Rollie Newton, who was very much awake and eager to help. The boy even offered to ride with Ben most of the way. The Weatherby's horses were saddled and ready when Ben strode in, all business and determination.

The thought that he could have Felicity back safe and snug in his arms by the coming afternoon was almost enough to make him dizzy with excitement.

* * *

A grey streak of dawn began to show in the east as he and Rollie made their way through Bristol's cobbled streets, some of which were hilly and some of which crossed canals by bridge, but there always seemed to be water nearby. To keep from giong mad with all that he had speeding through his brain, he attempted conversation with the youngster. "So what is that big church in the distance, there?"

"That's St. Mary Redcliffe, sir," replied Rollie, eager to show off his knowledge of the city. "Nicest church you'll ever see. "And if you go that way, to the east, you'll come to Queen Square, where important folks keep townhouses."

"Do you know anything about a Lord Reginald Forsythe?"

"No, sir. But I know which roads will take ye to the big houses where Lord and Ladies live, even if I don' know their names. We're going to take the road most used; it's got the best carriage path, which is the one a fine Lord would want to take if 'e's in his carriage."

"That makes good sense, Rollie," Ben told him encouragingly.

"Thanky, sir." The lad seemed quite pleased. "There aren't any really good roads goin' out of town in any direction, but if you use a carriage, ye want the road that fares the best. Folks who live in the country have the biggest, nicest homes, with fences all around them and lots of land. They all have their names on their gates where you go in. That's a good way to tell who's land yer about to tresspass on." He laughed a little nervously. "If'n ye don' already know."

Ben grinned at the boy. "How do you know so much about this place? I'd be completely lost if I was on my own."

"I grew up on the streets," Rollie told him, sounding not at all ashamed. "My mum died of something that made 'er spit out black stuff, an' I don' know who my father is...I'm what they call a bastard, y'see. My aunt put me in an orphanage, but there was a lot of sick children there. I decided I didn't like it, so I left. Mr. Weatherby found me rummagin' through his rubbish box, an' he took pity on me an' gave me a job. He and 'is wife never did have children of their own, so they was extra nice to me."

Immediately Ben felt pity for the boy himself. Just when he had made up his mind to not like anyone else English outside of Arthur and Elizabeth! The Lord sure knew how to put a person in their place! "You're a good boy, Rollie. I'm glad to have met you. Thank you for your help."

"Yes sir." Again he sounded pleased. "Mr. Weatherby says yer goin' to fetch yer lady back from that Lord Forsythe. You want I should stay with you an' help some more?"

"Will you get into trouble if you do?"

"Oh no, sir! Mr. Weatherby always tells me to help people I know who are in the right. So I reckon if a man crosses the sea to get his stolen lady back form a wicked Lord, then he is in the right."

"Yes!" agreed Ben whole-heartedly. "That is most definitely correct!"

"So I'm going to help you, sir" concluded Rollie, as if this was the most sound judgement in the world.

"Well, I cannot say that I do not need the help, because even _I _am not sure what I am going to do once I get out there! But I do know that I do not want you or Felicity- that is my lady's name, Felicity- to be in harm's way...should any harm have to be done." Ben felt a bit awkward, knowing that he had every intention of killing Reginald Forsythe for what he had done. He had not anticipated having an accomplice, especially one so young and impressionable as young Rollie here. He knew the look on the boy's face; one of dedication and determination, an eagerness to please, to show his worth and usefulness. How many times had he himself worn a look of the same type, feeling as if it would be devastating to be turned down. To tell Rollie Newton to go home would hurt the youngster severely, even if it would be for his own good.

As if he could read Ben's thoughts of concern, Rollie said ease and complete confidence, "Don' you worry about me, sir. I can take care of myself!"

"All right, then. But if there has to be violence, I do not want you to stay. You and Mr. Weatherby have been very kind to me, and it would kill me to see you get hurt, understand?"

Rollie smiled. "Yes sir!"

The sky had turned a few shades lighter, the growing dawn in the east revealing that it would be an overcast morning. Recent rains had left the road in a wretched state, all muddy and ever so sloppy, but it was indeed a road a carriage would take. And the horses seemed to prefer the mushy ground to the rough cobblestoned streets of the city, anyway. Ben wondered if Felicity had been taken along this road. _Well if this road does indeed take us to Forsythe Manor, then she most certainly _did _come this way, idiot! _he scolded himself self-irritatingly.

They had been riding for at least a couple of hours, the slate-grey sky having brightened to where Ben could see rolling hills, some of them forrested, some of them looking like patchwork quilts of every shade of green imaginable. If he had not been in such a rage at Forsythe and most things British, he would have thought this to be some of the most beautiful scenery he'd ever seen. He even wondered if Felicity had felt the same way.

As they came upon a more densely wooded area, Ben began to get the impression that they were in the domain of some wicked witch out of childhood stories. Some of the trees looked gnarled and lifeless. Suddenly Rollie pulled his horse to a complete stop, so ben did the same thing, looking at the boy questioningly. "Were getting near one of those fine houses. It might be the one yer lookin' for, sir. We should stop here so that no one can see us in these trees. See that big iron gate over there?"

Ben frowned, looking hard through the tree braches. Indeed, he could just make out a tall, black wrought-iron gate running the length of what might be the front grounds of someone's estate. He gulped, trying to control his anxiety. Before he could say or ask anything, however, Rollie was sliding down from his horse. He looked back up at Ben and said, "I can find out for you who lives here. I learned to be fast while I was livin' on the streets, stealing fruit and what-all." And just like that, he was gone, slipping through the trees and undergrowth like a rabbit, with little sound, leaving Ben astonished and not having been able to respond.

Indeed he did not have to wait long, for within five minutes, Rollie was racing back to where Ben had dismounted and was standing with the horses, looking tensed for action. The boy was panting as if he'd just run a foot race down Duke of Gloucester Street. "It's the Forsythe place, sir! There's a crest on the gate with a big 'F' on it! But there's a man on a horse coming toward the gate from the other side, and the gate-keeper has come out of his cottage to let him out!"

"Is the man on the horse alone, Rollie?" Ben asked quickly, feeling his familiar prepare-for-battle sensation flowing over him like a marauder's cape.

"Yes sir! 'Tis a big burly fellow, looks like he's dressed for hunting!"

'Big burly fellow?' Where had he heard that description mentioned before? Why, that was the description of that 'Gooch' person Arthur and Elizabeth had spoken of! The sinister hired man of Forsythe's that Felicity tried so desperately to tell him about that horrible morning when she had been so sick and he had refused to listen. HIs guts lurched achinginly for her, the guilt enough to kill him. He inhaled shakingly, his mind spinning out ideas like mad. "Well done, Rollie! Now listen, I have an idea. I am going to stop that man once he gets away from the gate and down the road a bit, so that I can question him. I am going to use force, for if this man is who I think he is, I will _have _to use force, because he will not want to tell me anything about Felicity. He will be one of Lord Forsythe's men, one who helped steal Felicity away from me. Do nothing unless I tell you to, all right?"

"Yes sir!" piped Rollie excitedly.

"Very well, then. Let's mount up,then you follow me. Remember, do nothing unless I say." He and Rollie got back on their horses and moved further away from the road to wait. Ben's hand slipped under his cloak to grip the handle of his cavalry pistol tightly. He still didn't know what to do; he was simply going by whatever happened. He stared hard at the huge, intimidating black iron gates of the manor and believed them to be some of the most hideous, evil-looking things he'd ever seen. Oh how he hated himself for not listening to Felicity before all of this happened! And now she was in _there_, probably injured from trying to escape from that fire..

The gate was unlocked and opened by a skinny old man who didn't seem to be any where near the pleasant, helpful sort of person, but then Ben wasn't expecting anyone who came out of those gates to be so. The gates were opened to allow the big burly man on the brown horse to exit. And yes, this 'big burly Gooch' matched every description he had heard given.A man who loved to drink and would kill for anyone who offered him the right price. This was the man who shot Edward Merriman, former master and father of his beloved. This was the ass who poisoned Felicity's and Arthur's drinks to make them insensible so that they could be placed, unconscious, in a bed together so that it looked like..so that Elizabeth would find them and think...so that _he _would think...

Ben clenched his teeth in self-hatred and in hatred for the hired man on the horse. The thoughts of everything that had happened so far made his so bloddy angry that he began to shake. It was time to do something! The burly bastard was actually _humming_! And in no particular hurry to be on his way, either, fortunately, Ben thought. The Gooch was going toward Bristol. His brown eyes dark with rage, ben nodded to Rollie, and the two of them nudged their horses into a slow walk among the trees, following the Gooch while they remained hidden by foliage. Neither of their horses made any nasal sounds of any sorts, much to Ben's relief, for he did not want his prey to hear himself being followed.

But it didn't matter, not really. Ben intended to catch him no matter how much noise there was, or who overheard. He merely did not want to be bothered by anyone once he was taking action, which he was preparing to do. He withdrew his gun. Rollie saw and his dark blue eyes widened, not with worry but with awe. No doubt the lad was immediately thankful that he was on Ben's side!  
Ben leaned twoard him and whispered. "We have to hurry, Rollie. His pace is picking up and we dont want to let him get away. We have to act fast, and here's what I want you to do: ride up as fast as you can and cut him off sharp. I will come up from behind and catch him."

"How?" Rollie asked, fascinated.

"You let me worry about that. You just stop his horse and keep it from taking off."

"Yessir!"

"All right, Rollie, _go_!"

It happened very fast; the boy took off out of the trees at nearly a full gallop with Ben right behind him, pistol drawn. The Gooch was totally unaware of the sound of galloping hooves with his humming and his drinking from a shiny metal flask. That is, he was unaware he was being set upon until it was too late; a freckle-faced boy seemed to come out of nowhere, cutting directly across his path and grabbing the reins of his horse. The Gooch immediately reached for his flintlock with his free hand, but there was a loud pop! of a pistol being fired, and Ezekiel Gooch jerked and yelped aloud, for he had just been shot in the back of a knee. It surprised so much that he fell off of his horse sideways, lost his tricorn, and landed hard in the mud while the boy held his horse's reins tightly.

Ben was down off of his horse before the animal could be halted, kicking aside the Gooch's pistol and bringing a boot down savagely on top of the knee he had shot. Gooch yelped again, sounding very much in gurgly pain as he struggled to knock ben's leg away, but Ben was faster. His experience in the war under the training of Light Horse Harry had not left in any way: He grabbed the Gooch by the woolen cravat and jerked him up roughly while keeping his dragoon pistol near the grimmacing man's stubbled, roundy face.

"Who are you? What is your name?" Ben demanded through clenched teeth.

"Ye shot my bloody knee, ye damn thief!" the Gooch blubbered drukenly, trying to grip his wound.

"Answer me, or I'll bloody your _other _damn knee!"

" 'Oo the 'ell are ye?"

"What, you don't recognize me, Gooch?"

"Huh?" There were no rays of sunlight peeping out from behind any clouds, but the big man squinted anyway as he tried to focus on Ben's furious face. " 'Ow did ye know my name?"

"So you _are _this whoreson Gooch I've been told about! You're the one who shot Mr. Merriman when you were supposed to have shot _me_!"

"What do ye...?" Then recognition crossed the Gooch's face as it dawned upon him who his assailant was. His dark eyes grew wide with panic. "Yer the apprentice I was supposed to..Oh Gawd, yer really _here_?"

"That's right, Gooch, I've come for Felicity! Now I want to know where she is right this minute, godammit, or I'll blow your fat face right off of your fat head! Tell me, now, quick! I have no patience anymore!" And indeed he did not, for he was shaking with uncontrolled anger. Although his pistol was not reloaded, he kept it aimed at the big man's ghostly white face for the fear effect.

"Ye've come fer th' girl?" the Gooch nearly squeaked in absolute shock, his big hands having come up to try to shield his face from the pistol's barrel. "Ye were supposed t'think she had bedded that funny fella-Oh law, 'e's gonna kill me!"

"You mean Forsythe? Oh no he's not, because _I'm _going to kill you first! I know Forsythe hired you to kill me! But when that didn't work because of your own love of ale, he made you poison Felicity and Arthur Pratt so that they would be unconscious when you set them up! I know about all of it, Gooch, I know everything except for where Felicity is, and now you're going to tell me or have your face blown off! _Now tell me where she is!"_

"Awright, awright! I'll tell ye! She aint in there no more! She's gone!"

A wave of cold washed over Ben in horror."What do you mean, she isn't in there anymore? Where in God's name _is _she, Gooch? You better tell me right now, or so help me, I'll-"

"I don' know, I don' know!" The big hunter, half drunk and half paralyzed in pain from the hole in the back of his knee, was nearly choking on his own fear. "She escaped the house while there was a barn fire and no one's seen 'er since! Everone's lookin' for 'er, there's even a reward! He made me try an' track 'er, so I think she's somewhere west of here, mebbe the Bel Hastings village, but I don' know! I just' don' know!"

Good God, Felicity wasn't here anymore! She could be anywhere, in any condition! That she had managed to escape was good, but to where? Where in the world could she go all alone and still be safe? Ben gulped, his rage having turned to panic so thick he almost couldn't think at all. He had not expected this, either. And of course, Forsythe had men out searching for her, in order to bring her back _here_, to this ungodly place. _Oh Lissie! My sweet, beautiful Lissie, where are you? God help me find you! That fire was weeks ago! Please, plese be somewhere safe so that I can find you! _The excitement that had been building up from anticipating having her back in his arms once more was giving way to new fear for her safety and whereabouts. What was he to do now?

He gripped the Gooch's scarf even tighter. "You're coming with us, Gooch! I'm taking you to the local authority, and you can tell them that I shot you, but you'll also have to tell them why. You're going to have to tell them everything while you're at it, right from the beginning!"

"Oh no, oh law, don' do that, I beg ye! I'll be jailed, mebbe hung!"

"You think you do not deserve _either _of those?" Ben asked incredulously.

"I jus' did what 'e paid me to do! 'E's the one ye want, not me!"

Ben Davidson was not feeling any mercy at all, not a bit. If anything, he was becoming outraged and furious again. "Oh you can be assured that Reginald Forsythe will get what is due him, Gooch. And so will you, even if I have to shoot your other knee out and throw you over the saddle of your own horse! But you are coming with us, dead or alive!"

"Oh Gawd, oh law!"

With the awe-struck Rollie's help, Ben got the Gooch up and back onto his horse with a great deal of moaning and groaning on the burly hunter's part. And as they rode toward the nearest constable's house, which was also in the closest village of Bel Hastings, Ben forced the big man with the threat of death to tell him everything Forsythe paid him to do, starting with the shooting of Edward Merriman.


	21. Chapter 21:Another Step Closer

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Pt 3, Ch21: Another Step Closer

So Ben Davidson learned all that Forsythe had done in order to get Felicity out of Williamsburg. All just so the little bastard could have her for himslef. But what Ben _didn't learn_ was that Forsythe had succeeded in marrying her by devious means, at the church Ben had inquired about just earlier that morning. The Gooch purposely refrained from telling the young cavalry captain that bit of information because of the still bleeding hole in theback of his right knee. Such news would very likely result in getting his other knee shot out as well. Young Davidson already seemed to be on the edge of insanity as it was! And he had indeed reloaded his dangerous-looking flintock real fast, making good use of his war-time skills.

Why hadn't old Mr. Tweed heard the gun go off in the first place? The old bugger had just let him out of the gate! Certainly Tweed had been miffed about being roused from his min-morning nap, but that was no excuse for ignoring a gun going off so close by! Maybe old Tweed was deaf- No, if he was deaf he would not have heard the summoning bell clanging for attention. Blast! The Gooch glanced to his left, seeing that the Davidson lad was flanking him closely on the left, with that impressive peice pointed right at him, ready to be shot if its master got any angrier.

To make matters worse (for a Gooch), the younger fellow that Davidson had brought with him had both of the Gooch's flintlocks holstered about his skinny waist; one of which was drawn and loaded under Davidson's instructions. Damned if the boy wasn't a fast learner! Rollie Newton flanked him on the right as both the younger men forced him to lead the way to the village of Bel Hastings, which the Gooch was not looking forward to returning to. The road going to Bel Hastings was in better condition than the one going to and from the city. At least in the city there would be a better chance of getting one's self lost if one tried to escape certain punishments!

To make matters even worse (for a Gooch), his damned hands had been tied in front of him with his own rope. "Oh ho, what's the rope for, gooch?" Davidson had demanded ferociously while rummaging through the hunter's saddle bags. "To tie Felicity up if you happened to find her? You _whoreson_!" Davidson had spat, stunning the Gooch into wondereing how the young cavalry captain knew his mamma had been a prostitute.

Other reasons why Gooch did not particularly wish to return to Bel Hastings was that for one, he had worn out his welcome harassing the locals concerning the whereabouts of _Lady _Forsythe, and for another, he had insulted a woman at the local pub one night by calling her a "jabbering sow," which resulted in the woman's husband giving him a black eye. 'Twas only while taking off in a drunken sprint that he learned that the woman he had insulted was the wife of the town constable.

"You say you tracked Felicity to this village were coming upon?" Ben asked sharply, wincing with suspicion.

"_Aye_," groaned the Gooch painfully, feeling self-pitying because he couldn't even grasp his own wounded knee. "Just outside of it, anyway. Lost 'er tracks in the woods near to some fancy place."

'Fancy place?' Ben frowned and glared at the back of Gooch's scraggly head. "What do you mean by that?"

"Th' locals say its the home of the duke of Bel Hastimgs, but I don' know 'cause I didn' get to go up there. Aint no high-an'-mighty royal fella gonna bother with a runaway lass gone out of 'er mind from opiuhhhh...Oh law, I did it _again_!"

"_What_?" Incensed, Ben heeled his horse forward, up alongisde the cringing Gooch, holding that pistol up at the big man's head menacingly. "Tell me what you meant by that right now, Gooch! 'Gone out of her mind?' What in hell do you mean by that?"

"Th' powders! They gots opium in 'em! 'Is mother relies on 'em to get by, so 'e bought up a whole lot so's he could use 'em to make the girl insensible. Ye know, so's she wouldn' fight 'im. But she did anyway. Anyone could floor that lil' shit- "

"I don't care about Forsythe!" Ben hollored impatiently at him. "Not right now. I want Felicity back first, and _then _I'll get your employer! So do you mean to say that she was given these powders constantly?"

"Aye," Gooch moaned. "So she wouldn' feel strong enough t'run away. But she did."

Ben closed his eyes in shockened worry. Just when he couldn't hate himself for all of this anymore than he already did, he learned something else that deepend the guilt and twisted the knife in his gut even harder. What absolute hell his Felicity must hae endured! What was her physical condition at this moment? Was she ill? He'd heard about addictions to powders and so-called remedies in the war, where men would become addicted to the most outrageous things that were supposed to cure illness, numb pain, or relieve symptoms. These addictions were very hard to overcome once started, and some of them even died from overuse! What in Heaven's name was Felicity having to suffer?

If he continued to dwell on what-if's another moment, he would just lose what little mind he had left to think with. He swallowed sullenly and looked to Rollie. "Where do we find the constable in this place?"

"We can ask someone at that house over there. Local folks know where everyone's at," Rollie assured him helpfully.

"Given the mood I'm in, Rollie, I don't think I can be very...er, patient or amiable at this moment."

But young Rollie understood immediately. He grinned, dismounted and handed his reins to Ben. "I see, sir. I shall find out where the constable is." And he laughed at the Gooch, who was groaning either from his shot knee, being back in Bel Hastings, or both. "If 'e tries to get away, sir, perhaps you should shoot his eyes out!" He took off for the front gate of the house.

"Oh law, don' do that!" Gooch cried out in his gurgeily voice. "I need me eyeballs!"

Ben sneered nastily. "You should have thought of that before you took up a mad man's offer! Now I have a new punishment to consider!"

"Ye wouldn'!"

"Wouldn't I?" Ben raised his pistol to Gooch's head. The burly hunter flinched and quivered in his saddle seat. Said Ben menacingly, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't!"

Rollie had already slipped inside the gate and disappeared behind the tall shrubs that lined the walk up to the little house's front called after him in a panic, "Boy! Don' leave me 'ere alone with this man! 'E'll kill me! Boy!"

Ben truly was considering shooting Gooch in the head. He thought about Felicity, pleading to be released, struggling, sick from those vile powders...believing no one in the world could find her, and that Ben himself wanted nothing more to do with her. Ever. Oh, how deep and horrible it hurt! And he knew he was to blame for it. "How many times did Felicity beg to be let go, Gooch? How many times did she have to struggle to get away from you? Did you hurt her, Gooch? If you did, I _will _find about it, damn you, and you _will _be as good as dead!"

"I didn' 'urt the girl! I didn'! If anything, she 'urt _me_!"

Ben's finger lessened on the trigger."How so?"

Gooch had his bound wrists up, attempting to sheild his face from sudden harm. "I was ordered to get 'er out of th' carriage 'cause she wouldn' come out on 'er own! But when I bent in to fetch 'er out, she slapped my nose red as a berry!"

At that, Ben smiled, proudly and sentimentally, tears rushing to his brown eyes. That was his Lissie, the fiesty, strong-willed girl who wouldn't give up without a fight! The ferocious longing to hold her, kiss her, smother her with all of the love in the world ate at him torturously, like his soul was being set upon by a pack of wolves. He had to find her _today_, he just had to! He could not eat, sleep. drink, or even take time to _piss _until he had her back! He was wound up more than ever, a powder keg about to blow. But there would be no release until Felicity was in physical contact with him once more.  
Today had to be the day he found her. It _had _to be!

He had only been gone a couple of minutes, but it felt like an eternity until Rollie came jogging back from the house to the road. His eyes were bright with excitement. "We're very close to the constable's office, sir! We're to follow the very road we're on right now until we come to a pub called the Night Owl-" (Here the Gooch groaned dreadingly) "-and the office of Constable Poon is in the building across from it."

"Good," murmured Ben satisfactorily. "Mount up, Rollie. Let's get this jackass to a gaol and be rid of him."

"Yessir!"

So they followed the road further north into the hilly country. It had to be perhaps two o'clock, Ben reckoned, by the position of the sun. Elizabeth and Arthur would be worried, he knew, but they did not understand. Of course they loved Felicity as much as they would a sister, but Ben did not. His love for her was different, deeper, passionate and consuming. It was his life. For Felicity he had refused to take just any woman, he had kept his carnal longings controlled for the moment when he would take her for his wife and learn of the intimate expressions of that blessed union with her alone. And for her he'd wait as long as it took for her to heal from the nightmare she'd been through because of him. If there was a God in Heaven, she'd forgive him. He prayed that God and Felicity Merriman would _both _forgive him, because he could never, ever forgive himself.

The Night Owl was a very rural-looking building, somehow fitting in very nicely with the undemanding, quiet and peaceful village of Bel Hastings, which in Ben Davidson's opinion consisted of fewer buildings than there were on Duke of Gloucester Street back in Williamsburg. But he understood that there were the farmers, the hard-working denizens who did not live directly within the village, but farmed those patchwork fields and hillsides for their living, and quite likely attended the quaint brick church just a few yards away. Had he been in better spirits, Ben would have thought the place to be perfect.

The building across from the Night Owl looked like an ordinary shop of some sort, but without merchandise being displayed in the windows on either side of its door. As they rode up to the hitching post, it was easy to see that there was a note nailed to the door's middle. Without being told to, Rollie Newton slipped down from his saddle to run up to the door and see what the note was about. Ben had a sinking feeling all of a sudden...

"Sir! It says that Constable Poon is unavailable and will return by nightfall!"

"That's correct," said a voice from beihnd them. Ben, Rollie and even the Gooch turned their heads to see a middle-aged man with a pipe standing in the middle of the street watching them with mild interest. " 'E's gone to see about a dispute over a dowry. Seems as if a young man won't marry some lass unless a milking goat is made part of the deal. Say...haven't I seen you somewhere before?"  
The gentleman indicated the Gooch with a nod of his tricorned head. The Gooch immediately turned his head away, pretending to be interested in the church not too far off. "Nay, sir. Can't say ye have."

Ben glared at the Gooch, then said to the gentleman, "You might have, sir. It is my understanding that he has been here before, asking around about a missing girl. It is imperative that we find her. She is my fiance."

"Ah, yes, I do remember him! Mr. Gooch! Insulted the constable's wife and made a nuisance of himself 'round and about! I was there at the 'Owl when said he'd arrest you if you ever came back! Oy, won't he be surprised!"

"Oh law," was all the Gooch could manage to mutter.

Ben got down form his horse, went to the gentleman and extended his hand. "My name is Ben Davidson, from the American Colonies. I'm here to find my fiance who was abducted late last year by a man named Forsythe. I must find her at once, sir, so if you know anything I'd be so grateful..."

"The colonies, eh?" Shaking ben's hand, the man looked him up and down, then smiled genuinely. "Not what I imagined a yankee to look like, but no matter. You're lookin' for your fiance, eh?"

"Yes sir."

"So was he." The man nodded at the Gooch again. "Only _he _was a damned nuisance about it. Can't say I know anything about the missing girl, lad, but you might want to speak to Squire Babcock about putting this villan in chains until Constable Poon gets back. The squire's a decent fellow, he'll help you as best he can. Heh! If he aint out whackin' moles somewhere."

"Thank you, sir!" The optimism was back in Ben's face and voice. "Where do I find this 'Squire Babcock'?"

The man took a pull on his pipe, then pointed west. "You take the cart path out to those hills, and keep going until you see a well-built cottage on your right. That's the Babcock house. Most likely there will be children playing in the barnyard. If you meet the squire, tell 'im ol' Smokestack Hanes wants to borrow a mole trap or two."

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir!" Apparently the fellow _was _ol' Smokestack Hanes, Ben mused as he quickly remounted. Rollie pointed a pistol at the Gooch and forced him to take the lead again. The three of them set off for the home of the squire, and Ben's heart was banging wildly in his chest again.

His impatience was obvious in his deep frown, in his short sighs that were more like 'pressure-release breaths,' his frustration getting to be more than he could bear. The Gooch continued to huff and groan over his knee, which he continued to instinctively try to clutch at but couldn't because of his bound wrists. Ben was sorely tempted to question the burly hunter about Felicity some more, but felt for certain that the Gooch would only say something to get him riled up again, and he would have to shoot the idiot dead. As if he didn't deserve it already.

Ben found the road taking them into the hills, between which were lovely little valleys where a home or two was nestled, and every home posessed a certain quantity of sheep grazing in its fields or on one of the grassy hillsides sloping up into the grey afternoon sky. Everything he saw he wondered if Felicity had seen it, too. The further along they went, the closer Ben felt to her. His optimism and excitement waxed and waned like the moon, but suddenly he felt his spirits rise like never before. Today was surely the day.

The mis-matched trio arrived at the gate of a fine-looking, one-story cottage, which was in their right as described by ol' Smokestack. Two children, a boy and a girl, were indeed playing in the baryard, entertaining a white goat that would chase them to the full extent of its rope then bleat for them to come back so it could chase them again. The children laughed fitfully, not yet seeing the three strangers arrive at their front gate. Ben felt most assured that this was the home of the squire, for there was a quaint but elegant 'B' carved into the top rail of the rustic front gate. It was a nice place, well tended and homey, cheerful, even if spring still had yet to arrive later in the month.

As Ben and Rollie dismounted and tied thier mounts to a gate post. Rollie asked helpfully, "Shall I go to the door for you again, sir?"

"Not this time, Rollie," Ben replied, his composure having temporarily settled, despite his insides twisting about in knots of utter anxiety. He holstered hi pistol beneath his cloak, indicating for Rollie to do the same. The last thing Ben wanted was to frighten the children with the appearance of weapons. He jerked a thumb back at the Gooch. "He's not going anywhere. But if he _does _manage to slip off his horse, then you may shoot his other knee out."

"Yes sir!" Rollie exclaimed with a toothy grin.

"Oh law, no more shootin'!" Gooch half-groaned, half-wailed. "I'm half dead as it is!"

Ben snorted. "Then you had better start making peace with the Lord, Gooch, or the Almighty Himself will just bypass your judgement and cast you straight on into hell where you belong." He nodded at Rollie and opened the Babcocks' gate. silently swearing that he had heard the burly hunter sob a time or two.

By now the rambunctious children teasing the goat had noticed the strange arrivals, and after watching two of them dismount, were scampering for the front door of their house yelling, "Mama! Papa! Visitors!"

A pleasant-face man with a belly and his equally amiable-looking wife both came to the door with curious expressions as Ben approached, trying not to seem so eager. But if he _did _seem so hurried and tense, he couldn't help it. Felicity was somewhere close- he could _feel _it!

Had she even come this way?

"Um, good afternnon, sir. Ma'am." He removed his tricorn, nodding in polite greetings. "Might this be the home of a..._Squire Babcock_?"

"Aye lad, that's me." Mr. Babcock came out on the stone path, smiling cordially. He had glanced past Ben at the younger male and the fellow slumped on ahorse who seemed oddly familiar and appeared to quite possibly have his hands tied together. "And who might I have the pleasure of meetin' today?"

"Captain Benjamin Davidson, sir. I've come all the way from the American colonies to find my abducted fiance, Felicity Merri-"

"Lady Felicity?" interrupted an excited squeak from the little girl, who had the same brown eyes and brown hair as her inquisitive-looking mama. "_You _know Faerie Lady Felicity?"

Ben's widened eyes were immediately asking the little girl the same question. 'Twas as if his heart had stopped mid-beat at the shock of hearing his beloved's name spoken by someone he had least expected it to come from. Bewildered, he looked from the girl to her parents and back again. Twice. "You-you know Felicity?" Good God, was she here?

"Pudding!" exclaimed Mrs. Babcock, a bit befuddled herself, having seen the man with the tied up hands on a horse. "Where's yer manners, child? Haven't I told you never to speak to strangers like that?"

"Is she here?" Ben blurted, his compusre slipping rapidly as his heart began to go off like a cannon, repeatedly, his brown eyes pleading with all the desperation in the world. 'Twas rude to interrupt a person, but when one's very dreams were about to come true, one tended to forget decorum and manners, lest one's heart explode."Where is she? You have to tell me, I have to get to her!"

"Now calm down, here, lad," said the Squire gently. "I can't just flap my jaws to anyone. who is that you've got with ye over there?"

Ben gulped, his throat suddenly having gone dry. "Th-that's my friend from the inn I'm staying at in Bristol, and the man on the horse is Mr. Ezekiel Gooch, a man hired by Lord Reginald Forsythe to help abduct Felicity Merriman. He has been here before, has he not?"

"Why yes!" The squire scratched his round chin. " 'E's been here before! Got the villagers quite ruffled with his persistant behavior, and insulting a constable's wife."

"Well Constable Poon was not available today," Ben babbled breathlessly, impatient to get back to the topic of Felicity. "So I was told to come to you, I was told you could help." He gestured urgently at the Gooch. "This man must be arrested! He aided and abetted an abduction, nearly killed an American merchant- Felicity Merriman's father- and is still in the employ of Lord Forsythe. Just this morning he was to go hunt for her again, he confessed to it!"

The squire stared past Ben at Rollie Newton. "You there! Is all of this true?"

"Aye, sir! Captain Davidson and two of his friends are staying at my master's inn, the Stag's Head, in Bristol. They have come to find the lass and see justice done!"

"Well! That's good enough fer me!" Squire Babcock turned to his flabbergasted wife."What say _you_, Unguin?"

"I say we must fetch the Duke!" Mrs. Babcock cried joyously.

* * *

"By crackety, that ought to do it!" stated Felicity Merriman, rising up from where she had been kneeling at the bottom hem of a rather gorgeous dark red gown in the open-robe styyle. She had a pin clamped between her teeth in a corner of her mouth. She stepped back away from her work, eyeing it slowly up and down, nodding absently with her own approval.

"Oh Felicity, it is absolutely _beautiful_!" gushed Magdalene, standing beside the young red head. Together they cocked their heads to their left to admire Felicity's stitching with the silver thread. The dark red dress hung on the torso of a wooden dummy shaped like a woman so that a dress could be modelled more patiently than on a live woman. "And ye keep insisting that ye can't sew! I do believe yer the only one who thinks that!"

Felicity smiled slyly at her. "Truly, Maggie, you give me too much credit."

"Oh bosh! Juliette will simply _love _this!" Maggie said excitedly of her niece, who was to be wed in the spring in the very dress they had been working on. The half-done gown had been brought to Maggie in a panic because her sister was too ill with a cold to finish it for her daughter's ypcoming nuptuals. Felicity, desperately wanting to be kept busy, begged to help, then ended up spweing ideas that ultimately put her in charge of the dress's completion.

The dress hadn't been the only change to occur at the home of the Duke of Bel Hastings. Felicity Merriman seemed to have come into another phase of being; that of a cynical, skeptical temperamental. The duke had sent a letter, penned by himslef because felicity didn't know where or how to begin, to her family by packet ship to the colonies the very next day following felicity's arrival at Bel-Hall. Lord Eric read aloud to her what he had composed on her behalf, Felicity approved, and thus he sealed the official-looking letter with his family's crest stamped into the bright red wax. Felicity wondered what her family would think when they recieved a letter about her from an actual duke. In her opinion, it felt awkward and strange, like she had become a stranger to her own family. Yet to find the words to describe what all she had been through and her current state of mind was just impossible right now, so she was grateful to the duke for his intervention.

Lord Eric had learned from one of his warehouses' managers that of the two ships he still posessed, one was in the Carribean, and the other was sue to return from Denmark soon. The ship coming from Denmark would be the best ship for sailing the North Atlantic, for it was built just especially for cold climates and rough weather. The duke could have easily paid her way aboard another ship, but he would not hear of it, for even with a female companion a young lady like Felicity would be risking harassment. He did not, nor would not, trust a crew that was not of his employ; he personally felt the girl had already been through too much to risk more. He knew Evangeline would approve.

He had presented Felicity with options: risk a voyage with an unreliable crew, or wait for the return of the Denmark ship. Seeing his blue eyes pleading though his voice did not, felicity relented to wait. She herself trusted no one, but she was willing to give the duke the benefit of the doubt. After all, what had she left to lose but her life, and that she held in little regard. She was in a blue mood most of the time...except for when Magdalene or one of the servant ladies made her smile or laugh a little.

She had been a guest at Bel Hall for four weeks now. Although the duke's ship had returned from Denmark days ago, Lord eric wished to tell his ship's captain in person of the special voyage he was planning. The ship would need to make the necessary repairs, get cleaned out and re-fitted, and its crew given a brief rest. Ordinarily, a tired crew having just returned from one laborous trip would not be that eager to set out again on another one so soon, but when the duke himself promised them all handsome bonuses, they were ready to leave at once.

Of _course _Felicity desperately wanted to go home. But she wanted to be assured that she would truly _get home_. If that meant waiting for the re-fitting of a reliable ship with a trustworthy crew, then it would be worth the extra wait. 'Twas not as if she had to struggle to keep from being idle, and thus fall prey to the dangerous emotions she was trying to keep pent up within her. She insisted on making herself useful. The duke tried to protest that she was a guest and deserved peace and relaxation. She argued that she could never have either until she was back with her family. The duke relented. She was shown his stables per her request, and instantly fell in love with his horses. Thus she put herself to work grooming them daily.

And then there was Magdalene herself, who had in a very short time become the wise, eccentric aunt Felicity never had. The woman fussed over Eric like a worried mother, claiming that somebody had to be after him to make him take care of himself. " 'E needs a woman to make him mond, that's what 'e needs," she said of him one day. "A man may brag an' boast an' strut about like the only rooster in the barnyard, but 'e's still just a chicken! Wot good's a rooster without a hen?"

Magdalene was very wise about men.

Maggie kept her lively chatter going constantly, spouting her wisdom and encouraging Felicity to be productive as she was. Lord eric began to believe that Felicity might have become an utterly withdrawn recluse if not for his beloved motherly-maid's attentiveness.

And it was not as if Felicity was completely rid of Reginald Forsythe yet, either. Different newspapers issued in Bristol ran articles on the reward still being offered for her return to Forsythe Manor. In these papers she was referred to as 'the Lady Forsythe,' her first name strangely omitted. Rather than be intimidated by these articles, felicity was greatly annoyed. Dining with Magdalene and the duke one evening recently she had grumbled, "How is it that a man who is broke can afford to put advertisements in four different newspapers?"

Eric had raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Perhaps it is not he who is having them printed. Forsythe Manor and the remnants of his vile slaving business officially belong to Reggie's uncle and cousin now. My lawyer sends me word that Tristan Forsythe is recuperating quickly now. Half of his face is quite burned, but he can speak plainly now without too much pain."

Felicity had looked nervous right away. "So why has he not come after me? I did not get that much acquainted with him, thank the Lord, but I quickly learned what sort of man he is, and I judge him to be the sort who seeks revenge on those he believes have wronged him. For something as startling as an injury to the face of someone who's vain- something that would scar him and make him grotesque to women he once charmed- I would think that Tristan Forsythe would want my blood to drink with his evening meal! So why hasn't he come pounding on your door with constables and sherrifs and all?"

The duke's chin had lifted defiantly, his smile amusing in a reassuring kind of way. "Perhaps it is simply because you cannot be located! And I believe that he cannot bring charges against you without implicating himself somehow. Notorious cad that he is, I am certain there are heartbroken, victimized women out there who would like to see him be brought to justice for various reasons."

"So, then...his revenge upon me will be private." She had not put it as a question, but a deep-seated worry expressed aloud.

"Nay, my dear, he shall do nothing of the sort," Eric had said firmly. "My household is loyal to me. They will not allow anyone to come onto the property without consequence or invitation. I assure you, Miss Felicity, you are quite safe here. And I am a peer of the realm. Even if you had shot the lowly louse in the head, I could declare you innocent regardless of any evidence or protest. A duke has the power to make things _very _miserable for the lower classes. 'Tis an abuse of power, really, but it has always been that way. As I've said afore, we are lucky that you are in the right."

Felicity had swallowed her pork dinner that evening with a dry throat. "I hope so, your grace."

"Take heart, dear," Magdalene had also assured her with a pat on the hand. "If the lad didn't speak the truth, I'd know it!" She had leaned toward Felicity and whispered (loudly), "When 'e lies, 'is face turns green."

The duke of Bel Hastings did not have a green face that evening.

So now four weeks into her stay at Bel Hall, Felicity Merriman had settled into a dedication to seeing that Magdalene's niece, Juliette, would have a splendid gown to wear upon her wedding day. On her own whim, she had added silver beading to the bodice and stomacher, details that Juliette's mother and Maggie had found to be awe-strikingly approving, having not thought of it themselves. Maggie gave Felicity free run of her personal sewing supplies, and in that Felicity had found a great deal of unused threads, trimmings and beads from broken necklaces and other jewelry that spawned all sorts of decorative ideas.

Felicity believed that a girl had a right to feel like a princess on her wedding day. She was assured that that day would never come for her now, but she could at least help make some other young lady's dreams come true. Also in the lovely upstairs dressing room with her and Magdalene was Marvel-Anne and Poppy Babcock, who having taken quite a liking to 'Faerie Lady' Felicity, as they dubbed her, wanted to watch her sew and help with everything from picking up trimmed off thread to collecting dropped beads. "Well, little elves, what do _you _think?" Felicity addressed them importantly, for they were thrilled to death that The Lady considered their opinions.

"Oh its a dream!" swooned Marvel-Anne.

"Queen Charlotte would be _sooo _envious!" sighed Poppy adoringly.

Felicity snickered a little bit. "Indeed! But this gown is meant for Juliette, who will be royalty herself on her wedding day, as all ladies should be."

"Even you, dear," added Maggie pleasantly.

And immediately Felicity turned obviously doubtful. "Oh Maggie, I shant ever get married. I missed my chance. I do not need a man to be happy, though. I can be content to do for others."

"What nonsense!" Magdalene's hands went to her hips as she slipped into her scolding-mother attitude. 'Ye aint even eighteen! And no woman truly _needs _a man, that is for certain! But 'tis the way of things. We weren't meant to be alone, man nor woman. It's nice to 'ave someone to share yer life with."

Felicity shrugged indifferently, not really feeling up to a 'men are nothing but idiots' talk. Her father wasn't an idiot. He was the best man in the world. But Father was so far away right now...maybe even dea-

No! She wasn't going to think it. That was the path to insanity. She rubbed the back of her neck tiredly. "It must be getting on toward five o'clock. Shall we go start supper, Maggie?"

"Wot d'ye mean, 'we'? Ye've worked hard on this dress all day! Ye deserve a break. Why don't ye lie down for a bit an' I'll fetch ye when dinner's ready."

Felicity contemplated it, then said, "Actually, a nice walk outside in the garden would be nice. What I need is some fresh air."

"All right, then, if'n ye feel like it." Maggie wagged a motherly finger at her. "But ye 'ave to take someone with ye if ye go out. Ye don' go nowhere ouside unescorted because ye never know what might happen."

"Yes'm," Felicity said, smiling at the older woman's protectiveness. "I'll get Flora to go with me, she likes to talk about animals that happen to not be men."

Maggie's head went back as she laughed riotously.

"Oh may we come, too, Lady Felicity?" asked Poppy, bouncing up and down like a hyper rabbit. "May we, may we, may we?"

"Oh yes, may we?" chimed in Marvel-Anne. "We want to talk about animals, too! Not the man-animals, but the regular ones."

Felicity and Maggie exchanged an irresistable grin. But the older woman knew best when one had been set upon by energetic children long enough. "Now shush, the both o' ye! The lass needs some fresh air, And the two o' you little mice need to get home an' help yer own momma with yer dinner!"

"But Mrs. Mag!" the girls wailed insistently.

"Run along now, before yer Papa has to come fetch ye hisself! 'E'll be right put out if ye interrupt 'is bloddy mole whackin'!"

"Actually, Maggie, mole-whacking is not so bad," commented Felicity airily with a smile. She had been twice invited for mole-whacking lessons with the squire and his son. The experience proved to be a good way of relieving stress. "The squire says for every one you whack there are ten more the next day."

Maggie rolled her eyes and shook her head. " 'Tis a wonder there's a mole left in Bel Hastings at all! Not that I care for the lil' nasties, but a gentlewoman ought not to be out whacking the heads of pests!"

"Then its a good thing I'm not a gentlewoman, because I found the whacking to be enjoyable." When Felicity said this the two girls giggled approvingly.

"Ah, enough with ye! Go for your walk, girl! And as for you two, if'n I give ye both a piece if the duke's taffy will ye get along home?"

"Yes Ma'am!" said the Babcock sisters, entranced by the thought of sweets, as all good children should be.

Felicity laughed softly at them and wnadered down to the inside kitchen to find Flora, the young maid who often accompanied Felicity on her walks in the duke's garden. Flora was a true English country girl of Felicity's age, unmarried but hoping to win the heart of the villiage pastor's son someday. Flora loved animals of every kind, so Felicity had to be careful of mentioning the mole-whacking around her, lest the sensitive girl busrst into tears. Felicity found her having just finished mending an apron when she came into the servant's dining area. As Felicity assumed she would, Flora dumped her sewing aside to jump up and go.

Little did she know that just as soon as she and Flora went out the rear doors of the manor, an unexpected (and _very _eager) arrival had just come to the front.


	22. Chapter 22:Thunder And Lightning

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE Pt3, Ch22: Thunder and Lightning

Ben just couldn't be still as he stood outside the double oaken doors of the duke's mansion. He shifted from one foot to the other, biting his lip, looking first impatient, then pained, then more or less like heart was going to fail him any moment. _She _was here. She _had _to be! Squire Babcock had not said one oway or the other if she was in this mansion, just that it was imperative to speak with the Duke of Bel Hastings about the matter. All of his senses were clanging like the bells of a great cathedral proclaiming the end of a war. It was all he couldl do to hold himself together.

The squire stood beside him, looking patient and like he had all the time in the world. He had neither denied or confirmed that Felicity ahd been to his house, but with all due respect Ben believed that she had been there, since the squire's own daughter had blurted out Felicity's name uncontrollably. That proved it. offered to take him to see the duke in person, and Ben had no objestion to that whatsoever. So he left the Gooch tied securely in the Babcock barn with young Rollie to guard him...

...and a take-charge Unguin Babcock to see to it that the Gooch did not die from his shot knee. With two of her fascinated children to assist her she removed the lead from the back of the Gooch's knee while Rollie looked on with amusement and ate from a near-to-overflowing plate of Babcock-cooking, the smell of which was so tantalizing that it was hard to tell if the Gooch was yowling from pain or envy.

Ben had walked to the duke's estate with the squire, who insisted that they walk (in hopes of getting the agitated young American to calm down a bit), but that only seemd to make Ben even more tensed. He had actually started striding ahead of the squire, who merely chuckled. Like Felicity, Ben had been awed by the sight of Bel Hall in all of its magnificence, but the thought of Felicity actually being in this place was the thing that most made his heart start flip-flopping around in his chest. The closer they got, the stronger he felt in his soul that she was in there.

And now here he stood, right outside the stunning place that was called Bel Hall, to see an actual duke about his beloved Felicity. He could hardly breathe! After having urgently used one of the shining brass door knockers to get the attention of those within, they had no choice to but to wait. But they didn't have to wait long, for one of the doors was slowly opened by an affiable-looking gentleman in a butler's sharp dress with spectacles on his nose and a short peruke wig on his head.

"Squire Babcock! 'Tis a pleasure," said the butler, genuinely pleased. "Have you come to dine with us today?"

"Nay, Lazlo, my old friend, I am here on...eh, shall we say 'official business.' 'Tis urgent that my young friend and I see Lord Covington right away. Constable Poon is unavailable and we got a villan by the name of 'Gooch' tied up in my barn with an irate female known as my wife threatening to cut off his injured leg if he even thinks about trying to escape!"

"Ah, say no more, squire. Do come in." Lazlo stepped back, opening the door wide to admit Mr. Babcock and the young man, who was wide-eyed and nervous looking, his brown eyes immediately roving about the beautiful airy foyer as if looking for someone or something. Laz smiled generously. "And who might this young friend of yours be?"

"Uh, Benjamin Davidson, sir," said Ben for himself, gulping anxiously as he tried to address the butler and look around for certain people at the same time. "I'm here to see the duke about my missing fiance, Felicity Merriman."

"Miss Felicity?" Lazlo's eyebrows went up. "She is _your _fiance?"

Immediately Ben slipped into a near-hysteria. "You know her? Is she here? Please, you've got to tell me if-"

"Squire Babcock?" inquired a well-spoken male voice. "What is this about Miss Merriman?" Descending the stairs, the Duke of Bel Hastings gave his visitors a curious look. He was dressed in fine navy blue for dinner, his queue well-groomed and tied with a silk black ribbon. He was impressively handsome without looking foppish in the least, a broad-shouldered, sensible man who carried himself with an air of importance and business (when he was in official duke-capacity, that is), showing a face that was both stern but optimistic. Maggie had called it his"breeches-are-too-tight" expression. His 'official dukeness' look had intimidated some of his peers, his business competitors and the fellows who had once vied with him for attention from a young Evangeline, but those who knew him best found it utterly comical.

Ben Davidson had never met a duke before, much less knew how to address one. In his life, he had never given thought to the possibility. In the colonies, rank didn't matter much unless you were in the army. Lords, Dukes, Viscounts, and Earls were all the same to the patriots, especially if they had come from England. Ben Davidson had never expected to be in England addressing a person of such title. But if Felicity was here and spoke with this man on a regular basis then he could, too. Quite obviously the duke knew Felicity. She was here. He coudl feel it! He could feel _her_. He gathered his courage as the Duke of Bel Hastings came off the steps.

"Got some interesting news for ye, your grace," said the squire, with a bow that Ben stiffly and briefly mimicked, and with the familiarity of one who knew the duke well. "This young Yank brought that Gooch fella to my house, where we've got him all bound up like a hog for the butcher, who just might turn out to be my Missus if'n ye don't reccomend a course of action. Poon isn't available for awhile."

"Please, sir," Ben appealed with his young heart on his sleeve, "that is, your Grace, I have been searching for my fiance, Felicity, for I've forgotten how long now- is she here? I am here to take her home to be with her family, to be with _me_! I cannot endure another day or night without her, sir. I just can't!"

"An' I, for one, think 'e means it!" put in the squire, rubbing the back of his neck. "Love does nasty things to a man's head."

The duke nodded. He looked Ben right in the eye. "You are not in the employ of a Lord Reginald Forsythe?"

"No sir!" Ben replied incredulously. "Forsythe is the one who took Felicity from her home in the colonies!"

A tense moment passed. Then the Duke of Bel Hastings smiled forgivingly. "Then I believe you, Davidson." He extended his hand. "I am Lord Eric Covington, second Duke of Bel Hastings...and temporary keeper of your Miss Felicity Merriman. 'Tis a good thing you happened along when you did, because I am presently having a ship re-fitted for travel to return Miss Merriman home." The two men shook hands agreeably.

"Then she is here! She is truly here?"

Eric smiled pleasantly. "I am assuming you would like to see her now?"

* * *

Felicity had come to admire the duke's gardens, which he confessed joyfully were really Evangeline's gardens, since it was his wife who had lovingly made it into even more of a splendid work of art than anyone else in the duke's family had managed. There were rose bushes galore. Willow trees, birch, oaks and maples, all presently budding in preparation for the coming spring. There was a reflecting pool, a magnificent Greek sundial, a statue of a rabbit playing a fife that made Felicity smile when she thought no one was looking. She had learned it was the Babcock children's favorite thing in the garden.

But the most impressive botanical creation of all, the thing that impressed Felictly Merriman the most, was the maze. Created with evergreen hedges between six and seven feet tall, it would be a challenge to get through. Felicity had yet to attempt it, and she didn't feel up to it today. With a sigh she thought about how much fun it would be to try it with Ben by her side. With Elizabeth, and Arthur. They would all love this.

But would she ever see them again? Things would never be the same if she did. Her heart sank, as it did nearly ten times a day. At her side her hand fisted in her struggle to not give in to the raging depression that threatened to stifle her. This was not the time. She silently swore that no one would ever see her cry again. It didn't matter who she saw again or when. She wasn't an emotional little girl anymore, she was a soon-to-be seventeen year old woman. Time to act like one, and a hardened one at that. Life was mercilessly cruel. Well! She could find that _she _could be too! She didn't like it, but if that was the only way to survive all of this, then she would recreate herself in stone.

Like that Roman woman statute on the front lawn of Forsythe Manor.

"Miss Felicity?" inquired Flora at her side, sounding concerned. "Are ye all right?"

"Huh?" Felicity turned red, embarrased at being caught pre-occupied. "I'm sorry, Flora, my mind just has a tendency to wander off easily these days!"

"Ye aint even eighteen an' your'e talking like the elderly! I was just sayin' that 'tis a wonder the sheep aint picked up yer scent an' come a runnin'! I aint never seen sheep take to a person like they do with ye!"

Felicity blushed again, this time offering a crooked smile. "Yes, well...I do like sheep." What could she say about the four-footed wooleys that flocked near the mansion because they knew she was in it? It _was _odd. Recently on one of her walks with Flora, the ovines had found their way into the garden and came trotting to her, bleating for attention and nearly knocking over the ladder on which stood one of the duke's gardeners removing dead leaves and branches from some of the maze's evergreen walls. No one could make sense of it. Felicity wasn't frightened by it by no means, but they did amuse her to the point of doing all that she could not to howl with laughter. The duke was right when he said sheep were queer creatures.

The maze took up the center length of the expansive, rectangular rear lawn, with Evangeline's beautiful gardens on the left and right of it. White crushed shell paths took a person on tour throught the gardens on either side of the maze. Felicity and Flora took the left hand path to walk and talk about nothing in particular. It wasn't like the two young women were utterly alone; employed at Bel Hall were six dedicated, able-bodied gardeners who worked hard to keep their late mistress's work alive, so they were here and about, doffing their hats to the girls as they went about their work. If anything was amiss or suspicious, everyone would know about it in a matter of seconds.

Felicity and Flora had toured around the gardens only once today, and were now returning alongside the outer evergreen wall of the maze to their left, when Felicity thought she heard someone yelling. "Wait a moment, Flora, I thought I heard something." She had a tendency to get nervous quick these days, wary of strange sounds and sudden movements.

"I don' hear nothin', Miss," said Flora as they halted abruptly, her amicable face puzzled.

"I could've sworn I heard someone..." They remained paused, waiting silently, blinking. Then Felicity shrugged. "I suppose it was just the gardeners, calling to one anoth-" She drew in her breath sharply. "There, I heard it again!"

"As did I!" exclaimed Flora.

"_Felicity_!"

Flora looked at her friend worriedly. "Someone's hollerin' for ye, Miss!"

Chills snaked down Felicity's spine. "B-But if it was someone evil, they wouldn't have been able to get in...would they?"

"Oh nay, Miss! They'd have to fight their way past the duke himself!"

Felicity gulped as she took another timid step forward, she and Flora holding on to one another. The yelling voice came again: "Felicity!"

Dear God, that voice sounded frighteningly familiar. Almost like it had come from...

"Felicity, where are you? Are you out here?"

Her first working thought was that it was Ben Davidson's voice. But that would be impossible, the most least likely thing to happen in the world. Whoever it was merely _sounded like _Ben, that's all. A rush of sadness filled her, for she believed she would never see Ben again as long as she lived. She was thoroughly convinced of it, and hated herself bitterly for not forcing all of her girlish dreams to just die faster. She sighed tiredly. "Well, whoever it is sounds urgent, so I guess we'd better go see what is going on."

Flora nodded and they began walking toward the mansion again. Said Flora, "Maybe his Grace's ship is finally ready to sail again. That would be good news for you, Miss Felicity, but we'd all be sad to see ye go."

Felicity smiled appreciatively, trying not to let emotion get the best of her. In four weeks she had gotten close to the wonderful people here at Bel Hall against what she considered to be her better judgement. They were a vastly different bunch than those at Forsythe Manor. And none of these servants were colored slaves, forced from their homes. They actually _enjoyed _serving the duke, they had _all _mourned the passing of Lady Evangeline, and they all longed for the return of young Thomas, the duke's only child. At least Felicity had gotten him to consider it.

"Felicity, _please_, are you out here?"

Blast! How that person yelling sounded just like Ben! She actually put speed to her step as she and Flora came upon the maze's edge and rounded the corner. There she stopped cold. Between the start of the maze and the many steps coming down from the mansion's broad rear patio was a gravelled space. There was a man standing there, clad in a long black winter cloak over his blue-grey clothing and knee-high riding boots. His back was turned to them, and although he was wearing a tricorn, 'twas easy to see his queue of long brown hair.

_Long brown hair, _thought Felicity,_ just like..._

Though neither Flora nor Felicity had made a sound, the man must have sensed them standing there, for he suddenly whirled around and saw them. And when he did, a gutteral cry tore from Felicity merriman's chest uncontrollably as Ben Davidson cried out "FELICITY!" They started towards each other at once, a stumbling, dazed kind of movement, a maddened dash as the world around them dissolved in their perceptions to where they only saw each other and nothing else.

Flora was terrified that they would collide right into each other and be knocked insensible at once. But Ben's arms flew out wildly, catching Felicity in a frantic, crushing embrace, lifting her feet right off the ground as he twirled her around.

As she had been running to him, instinctively, as though her legs had minds of their own, her eyes had teared up so fast that her view of him had been blurred completely. She didn't hear the sound of her shoes crunching on the gravel for the sound of insane screaming she didn't even realize was coming from herself. And then all of a sudden he had her, his strong warm arms enclosing her, the musky, masculine scent of him invading her senses to the point of shock, the sound of his voice trembling as he, too, seemed to be crying. But Felicity did not comprehend a single word he was saying. The impact of hearing a voice she loved, the voice of someone she'd sworn she would never see again knocked the wind right out of her. The _feel _of him; his sinewy, slender form, hard and strong was a shock to her own body. Had he not had such a death-grip upon her, she would have puddled to the ground unconscious.

She continued to scream into the bend of his neck, making all of the bones in his upper-half vibrate with the intensity of it. He inhaled her dizzying sweet lavender scent that he had missed so much it brought him to tears. She was so pale and thin! Frail-looking, like she had been ill recently. And he reminded himself that she had been, because of those horrible powders. He wanted revenge, wanted to kill Reginald Forsythe with a burning rage. But loving Felicity back to health came first. He gripped her as hard as he could, gripped the back of her beautiful red head and held her as if he dared the universe to just try and take her away from him again.

"Lissie, Lissie, my beautiful girl," he murmured into her delicate ear as she sobbed. "I have you now. I'll never let go, oh I'll never, _ever _let you go again! I swear on my grave!"

But Felicity didn't hear him, not his words anyway. She had gone into actual shock; cold all over, shaking uncontrollably, unable to get a mental fix on the reality of the situation. There was a difference between swooning and being so overwhelmed with unexpected surprise that one's body just shut down because it couldn't cope. Ben felt her strength leaving her, so he quickly swept her up into his arms, holding her tight like he was scared to death she would disappear in his own grasp. He got a grip on his roiling emotions and murmured words of undying love that she still could not comprehend.

The gaping Flora could only stand there and stare as the handsome young man carried the wretchedly crying Miss Felicity up the marbled steps to the patio. He trembled as he carried her across the patio's marble surface, his paled face somewhat scrunched with his effort to keep frowm crying aloud himself. He needed, _wanted _to be strong for her, for the both of them. One of the double glaze-barred doors at the back of the mansion was still open and he took her through, into the airy corridor connecting the sunroom and foyer, where the duke, Lazlo, Magdalene and Squire Babcock were still standing and talking amongst themselves. All four of them looked at Ben, flabbergasted, as he carried the crying Felicity in. Somehow he found voice, albeit shakily, to ask, "Is there a place here where my fiance and I could be alone? To talk and-"

As if on cue, Lord Eric, Laz,and Maggie pointed at arm's length up the stairs. "Thank you," Ben said, sniffing back his tears, and took Felicity on up the grand staircase. The four observers just stared in amazement. She clung to his neck as best she could, since her limbs had gone numb from shock. She still couldn't make sense of his words, because the sound of his voice was impact enough. It was the sound of home, of precious childhood memories that seemed like a lifetime ago, of what used to be _love_.

On the second floor, he went to the first room on his left, which was actually the room Felicity had been given, and shut the door hastily with a foot. He spotted a cozy little sofa near the fireplace, which had been lit for the approaching evening. His breathing was fast from the excitement of having Felicity back at last and in his posession.

He sat her down on the sofa and immediately sat himself down beside her, turned in her direction. One arm remained about her shaking shoulders while he rummaged around like mad to get a hankerchief from inside his coat pocket. With it he gently wiped away the many tears streaking her cheeks. Her sobs had become soft, weary hiccups, and now she just stared at him through watery, dull green eyes. Eyes he missed so badly that he wanted to shriek with joy. But they had lost their shine and presently regarded him with such sadness that it was all he could do not to crush her to him again.

Slowly, she caught his wrist and lowered it. When she spoke, her voice was a shaking whisper. "Are you for real?"

"Yes!" Ben laughed joyfully, tears in his eyes, too. "I'm real and you're real! You don't know how long its been-"

"Did..did Father come?" she interrupted with a question, swallowing hard. Her mind was spinning so bad her head had started to hurt, but in this insanity that was too real to accept just yet, her mind was taking a nasty turn. "Is my father here? Did he come for me?"

Ben had yet to suspect somwthing was wrong. It seemd to him to be a perfectly natural question. He smiled apologetically. "No, Lissie, I'm sorry. He wasn't able to, so I-"

"I see," she interrupted again, stiffening, releasing his wrist. "He wasn't able to come so he sent you in his place. Yes, I see." She quickly stood and moved away from the couch.

_Now _he began to sense something was wrong. She was moving _away _from him, throwing up an invisbile barrier between the two of them and it scared him horribly. Something was bad wrong. She was putting space between them physically. Not good at all. "Lissie, what is wrong, what's happened?" He, too, rose quickly. He wanted her back in his arms again to hug and squeeze and love upon like never before. What was happening here?

"I hope your voyage over wasn't so bad," she continued, her arms going about herself as if she was trying to keep herself from shaking any worse than she already was. as he inched toward her, she was inching away. "Whether you can believe it or not, I will try to be as little a burden to you as I can on the trip back."

"Felicity, what are you talking about? What's _wrong_?"

She sniffed, smiled so politely that is was, indeed, frightening. "I'm sure you must be quite eager to get back to your wife."

"My _what_?" His brown eyes went wide. "Felicity! What did he do to you?"

She smiled again, refusing to look him in the eye lest she simply lose control for the ultimate last time and start screaming her outrage to the world. "Oh, I'm perfectly fine, as you can see. 'Tis really improper for a married man such as yourself to stand too close to someone like me. We can exchange pleasantries, if you like. Do tell me how my family is faring, will you?"

This was horrible. She looked like a ghost, sounded like she was about to lose her mind, and refused to let him get close to her again. "Felicity, look at me! Tell me what has happened! I don't know what you're talking about!"

Trembling violently, she made a crazy, flippant gesture with one hand and said with eerie indifference, "Oh surely you must have married by now. Was it Clarissa? I recall she was quite fond of you. I knew she would make you a good wife. Is she expecting yet?"

"Felicity!" Ben cried, his eyes full of concern and terror. "I'm not married! Who told you that? I have not married anyone! The only girl I want to marry is YOU!"

If anything, that only seemed to push her further toward the edge. He stepped forward, reaching for her, but she backed away immediately, holding up a palm in protest. "No! Please do not say things you think I _want _to hear! I know you think I'm a lunatic, I can see it in your face. I am not so foolish as to believe that you, a grown man and eligible bachelor, have not married by now. You needn't be nice to me, even if father is paying you well-"

"FELICITY!" he roared, damn-near frightened out of his wits for her. "I'm not married! No one is paying me! I came here to get you because _I love you_!"

She said nothing, which was even worse than if she had said anything at all in response to that. She shook her mussed-up red head in refusal and backed away from him until her back touched the wall near a window. She glanced around her, a frightened rabbit that had been backed into a corner with nowhere else to run to. It hurt so badly to see her this way; the beautiful girl once so full of life and love and energy, reduced to fearfulness and despair, nearly mad with shock. It was a fine line she was walking on between insanity and hope. Ben Davidson realized that whatever she had been through, whatever horror Forsythe had done to her, the effects were accumulating now and he could quite possibly lose her forever with the wrong move or word.

"Felicity, please, _listen _to me! I _love _you! I am here to take you home and spend the rest of my life with _you_!"

"You always did think I was stupid," she whispered absently, wavering where she stood. Ben stopped trying to advance and held his hands up, the gesture of submission. She sniffed and said, "You really think I'd be so stupid as to believe that you would settle for marrying a _whore_."

Oh dear God. She remembered. All of those terrible things he'd said to her that day, the look of agony in her stricken eyes, the pleading in her voice for him to listen to her. And he'd refused. He'd thought the worst of her because he felt sorry for himself. She'd had to live with the memory of that day alive in her mind, on top of what she was going through here. The pain he himself had caused in the person he loved the most burned in her angry eyes.

"Felicity, please," he said, speaking softly, his face showing his effort not to cry, "I said some horrible things to you that day, things I wish to heaven I could take back! I was feeling sorry for myself, thinking _only _of myself, that every nightmare I'd been having about you loving me being too good to be true was just that: too good to be true. I was jealous of every man who spoke to you or looked at you. I knew what they were thinking because I was thinking those things myself. I kept expecting you to change your mind about marrying me. I'm sorry, Lisse, I'm so very, very sorry. I swear to you I will never doubt you again. Ever. I have been through hell without you, love. Everyday has been like a nightmare. There is just no living without you. I don't _want _to live without you."

She clenched her teeth. "Oh what a horrible time you must have endured." It was sarcasm, plain and simple.

She was wrathfully angry, but at least she had stepped back from the egde of madness. He was determined to ride out her rage, no matter how long it took. He would never give up. She was stuck with him and he would stand fast to prove it."Believe me, Lissie, I have prayed to God for His punishment, but since I have not been struck down as of yet, I _know _He meant for me to find you and bring you home to your family. That is what I am going to do. And I am gong to marry you no matter how long you want to wait."

She straightened a little, her gaze hurtful. "Well, it really is too bad you did not marry Clarissa Dupre when you had the chance. Perhaps it is still not too late. It seems you are unaware of one major problem."

"I do not love Clarissa Dupre!" Ben told her pleadingly. "I never _have _loved that girl! Never! The thought of being with anyone other than you is unacceptible! I don't _want _to be with anyone but you!"

"WELL YOU'RE TOO LATE!" She screamed at him viciously, stepping forward dangerously, her fists having balled at her sides. "Because _he _already married _me_!"

"Wha...what?" Ben gulped, going pale, his eyes going wide once more. "No...you can't...you don't mean..."

"YES I DO!" Felicity raged at him. "What, you think he brought me all the way to Bristol just to show me the quays? He MARRIED me! He took me to St. Mary Redcliffe and married _me_!"

Ben felt himself getting weak and chilled to the soul with shock. There was a knick-knack table on his left that he quickly put a hand upon to keep from dropping to the floor. Felicity watched with suspicious eyes, watching for his ultimate reaction. He took several hard breaths as if he was trying to catch his breath, the he said shakingly, "He-he _married _you?"

"That's what I said!"

His teeth clenched. His brown eyes filled with tears once more. He held to the table with both hands. "That bastard forced you...He forced you..." He couldn't bring himself to say it, to speak the horror he had secretly feared all this time. "Oh God, what I have done?" He released a half-sigh. half-cry as he turned to her again. "All of this is because of me."

"How rotten you must feel," Felicity snarled stiffly, her arms going about herself again as if she were trying to keep warm. "Guess you better get home to Clarissa as fast as you can. You needn't have bothered to come for me, you know. Eric's men are preparing a ship to take me back to the colonies any day now, so I would have been just fine on my own-"

"Lissie," he cried softly, "how bad did he hurt you?' Like he hadn't even heard the words she had just spoke. He stepped toward her again, his heart breaking. "How did he do it?"

"You mean how did he manage to marry me? You think I didn't try to fight him? Oh, I forgot again how you think very little of my stupid little girlish mind. If you _must _know, he accomplished his goal the very same way he got Arthur Pratt and me into a bed together. The very same way he was able to get me aboard his ship without me even knowing it. He used his medicinal powders."

"I-I know," Ben whispered woefully, his brown eyes full of more sorrow than she'd ever seen in all the time she had known him. "That would have to be the only way he could ...get you. You're a fighter, Lissie. I know you would have gotten away if you had been physically able." He swallowed with a great deal of difficulty, then attempted to approach her again. "I will kill him, Lissie. I will make him suffer for what he's done. And it doesn't change the way I feel about you. Nothing could. I still love you more than my own life. I will still marry you no matter what."

Felicity's eyes narrowed. So he was thinking Forsythe raped her. Her first thought about that was to let Ben go on believing it, but then the notion of it was beginning to make _her _sick as well. She thought about Tristan, whom Ben didn't even know existed...yet. As furious as she was at Ben, she figured numbly that there were other ways to make him squirm without going that far.  
A person could take only so much Forsythe having control over everything.

"You think he forced himself on me?" Felicity asked suspiciously, sniffing back her emotions. "You really think I would allow that?"

A sliver of hope flashed across Ben's tortured expression. "Did he, Lissie? How far did he force you? I want to know, I want to make him feel hell for all that he's done!"

She hesitated a moment, watching him waver, watching for the slightest indication that he felt sorry for her instead of posessing this 'undying love' for her that he was going on about, making him worry to the most extreme...then she sighed resentlfully. "No. He didn't take advantage of me. The marriage has not been consumated."

"Oh Lissie!" he cried, bursting forward and grabbing her into his arms in a crushing embrace that once again had her feet leaving the foor. But she did not embrace him in return. There had yet to be an understanding between them, and Felicity wasn't sure what it was to be yet. Good lord, he was a handsome sight, so slim and dashing, yet broken down and spiritless. A lot like herself. But in no way had he suffered as much as she. It would be easy to forgive, certainly. But to forget? That was an entirely different matter that Felicity wasn't ready to deal with. This was all so much, so sudden. To beat all, she had felt her love for him rising like a wildfire inside of her the moment she'd seen him. That same insane, passionate burning she'd felt for him the moment he's returned from the war. She wouldn't be hurting as near as much had she no longer loved him.

But was love enough anymore?

"I love you, Felicity," he murmured tightly in her ear. "God, how I love you."

She said nothing, just stared up at the elaborately molded white ceiling of the room, wondering what was to become of them now. It would take time to figure that out. She closed her eyes against the feel of his soft warm lips brushing her cheek the kissing it firmly. Lord, that felt good! Her own natural instincts wanted desperately to kiss his mouth and run fingers through his beautiful brown hair, to let all of the hate and anger and sadness just melt away in the confines of his protective embrace, but that would be just delaying the issues, and there could be no peace, no understanding, no future for them if they were not addressed first. She could not enjoy this closeness, not now, not yet.

She pulled back, meeting his emotion-filled eyes with her icy green ones. "So am I to accept that you believe what I'm telling you? Do you believe me when I say that Forsythe's farce-of-a-marriage was not consumated- " She became angry again. "- or would you prefer to examine me and see for yourself?"

"Felicity, no!" Ben said quickly and pleadingly. "I believe you, everythng you say! I will still make him pay for everything, I promise you, but I am so glad he did not hurt you...in that way. Not that it would or could change how I feel about you, never. I just want you to know that I love you no matter what! No matter what happens to the both of us, we have love between us, Lissie. We will never be parted again!"

And again she found herself crushed to his hard chest in a frantic embrace with his cheek pressed against the side of her head. Sadly she whispered, "You turned your back on me when I needed you the most, Ben. I cannot just forget that. God knows I want to, so badly, but you don't understand what that did to me. The one time I needed you more than I had at any other time...Why, Ben?"

"Because I was a son-of-a bitch," he sniffed self-loathingly. "A self-centered bastard with no thought for anything except for how _I _was effected. God, how I wanted to just die when I realized the truth."

Though she loved him more than anything, she couldn't help but agree with him wholeheartedly.

He semed to be taken by panic, for he pulled back just enough to drop to his knees before her, his tricorn falling off of his head as he looked up at her with his soulful brown eyes full of pleading. He clasped her woollen, fingerless gloved hands to his lips for a moment, then begged intensely, "A better man would have never left you that morning and believed you without question! Please tell me Lissie, that he hasn't destroyed us- that _I _haven't destroyed us! If I have lost your love, I have lost my life! There is _nothing _for me in this world if I don't have you!"

He buried his face in her finers as she closed her eyes wearily. Forgive, yes. Forget, no. Not this soon, anyway. She needed time. She needed to think, and there was no way she could do that when Ben was being so pitiful like this. "Ben," she began quietly, a tremendous weariness settling upon her in place of the fury, "is that why you came? Because you feel guilty?"

"Of course I feel guilty!" He looked up at her again, pain in his eyes. "I _am _guilty! My God, Lissie, I hurt you grievously when you needed me the most! And for that, the guilt is killing me: I cannot eat or sleep or anything! But is it the reason I came to get you back? No, Lissie, I love you. I will tell you that again and again, over and over until you believe in me again!"

He watched her as she looked away, trying not to succomb to tears again. After a moment of near-unbearable silence, she sighed and looked at thim so tiredly. "In a way, Ben Davidson, 'tis a good thing you _did _leave me that morning. The Gooch is a very good shot when he isn't drunk, and he wasn't drunk that morning. He would have shot you dead where you stood." She paused, mostly for effect, then murmured, "I would not have been able to cope with _that_, either."

A tear from his left eye touched her fingers where he had them curled up against his face. "I would have rather been shot than to have treated you the way I did. Please say that you still love me, Lissie. I cannot lose you ever again. I just can't."

She frowned, but it was not a rage-driven look like before. Her angry energy was draining into exhaustion, as tremendous negative emotions so often did to the human soul. She frowned because she was sick to death of being a victim, of her emotions swinging from one extreme to the other all the time. A trembling hand pulled itself free of Ben's grasp and touched his soft brown hair. Not to comfort or soothe, but to acknowledge his words.

"I don't know who I am anymore, Ben."

He blinked at her, those beautiful eyes of his showing such passionate worry.

"So much has happened..." Felicity shook her head absently. "Every day since the first week of November has felt like a lifetime. I've either been furious, frightened, or frantic. I'm not..._me_, anymore, Ben. I do not recognize this _wraith _I've become. 'Tis like I have forgotten how to feel anything that's good or decent, and I don't know how to manage it! I don't know if I will _ever _be the way I was before."

Ben was so afraid that this would happen to her. He'd seen it happen to men in the war, men who endured far more than their hearts and minds could take, and they withdrew into themselves so deeply that not even being home with their families couldn't even bring them back. _Damnation! _he thought quickly, _I am _not _going to let this happen to her! We are NOT going to lose each other to despair!  
_Swiftly he rose, bringing her hands to his lips once more to kiss them firmly and say, "I will help you find your way back to yourself, Lissie, I swear it! I am going to love you back to health and we are going to love each other forever! I am going to help you because I am your friend and the man who loves you. No matter how long it takes, we are going to overcome this _together_!"

Her expression was grim and skeptical.

"I am going to take you home to your family, and when the time is right for you we will-"

Both of her wrists flinched, for he had squeezed them too hard in his passionate vowing and the still-healing gashes that she herself had made were still so tender! "OW! Ben, you're hurting my-"

"What? What is it, what's wrong, how are you hurt?" Immediately he began inspecting her fingers and palms for signs of injury. "Are you injured? Did _he _hurt you?"

"No!" she said, a rush of shameful heat coming to her ashen face as she pulled both of her hands away from him protectively. "It's not-I'm not-" She struggled for the words that would calm him down and distract him. " 'Tis nothing, you were just squeezing my wrists too hard."

He didn't buy it. He was possessed of worry, coming at her like an overprotective mother hen. "Let me see. Is it a sprain? Please, Lissie, let me see-"

"Ben, _no_." She backed away from him again, clutching one wrist to her chest guardingly. "Just...let it be."

"I can't! I've hurt you too much already!"

"This..isn't your fault." She stared at him, debating on whether to show him what she had done in a moment of powder-withdrawal-induced madness. "Not entirely anyway."

He came forward anyway, taking hold of her arms above the elbows and gazing at her so tenderly. "Please, Lissie, tell me. Tell me everything, love."

She regarded him uncertainly, then sighed. What would it matter? As far as she was concerned, she still had nothing to lose.


	23. Chapter 23:The Storm Continues

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Pt3, Ch 23: The Storm Continues

Disclaimer doo-dad: I do not own any lyrics nor do I own American Girl characters. I do not even own a cell phone.

darling, stop confusing me with your wishful thinking,  
hopeful embraces,  
don't you understand?  
I have to go through this  
I belong to here where no one cares and no one loves  
no light no air to live in  
a place called hate, the city of fear  
I play dead  
It stops the hurting  
I play dead  
Its sometimes just like sleeping  
curling up inside my private tortures  
I nestle into pain, hug suffering  
caress every ache  
I play dead  
it stops the hurting  
lyrics from 'I Play Dead' by Bjork

"There was a slave-girl named Lettie." A lump of sadness arose in her throat at the thought of the dark girl being dead...or worse. "She and I were to escape Forsythe Manor together. Just when we thought our plans were ready, Reginald's cousin arrived with the rest of his rotten family. His cousin's name is Tristan, and he is the worst sort of animal of all."

"Forsythe has a cousin?" Ben asked, sensing that this was not good, but then anything concerning a Forsythe never was. Ever.

"He has several, actually, but this Tristan is the worst of them. He is young and full of himself, and he abuses women terribly. He abused my friend Lettie. Twice." Just speaking of the swine made her nauseous.

"Did this bastard cousin hurt you, too, Lissie? Tell me if he did and I'll flay the damned snake alive!"

It took her a moment to reply. Speaking of Tristan Forsythe was not a very wholesome thing for one's stomach. "No, but 'twas not for lack of trying."

Ben saw the look of hatred and digust in her eyes and silently vowed death to Reginald and his ass cousin. "Tell me."

"The moment he arrived and saw me he figured that I must be like all of his other conquests, and he wouldn't leave me alone. He and Reginald despise each other, because Tristan knows Reginald pushed his former governess down the stairs when she was trying to leave to get married to a man in London. Tristan and his father are trying to take over the family business, which is slavery, by the way. Lord Covington found out that Tristan and his father succeeded in taking both, so God only knows what state of mind Reginald is in now- not that I care. But Tristan backed me into a corner one evening and all but forced me to make a deal with him."

"What kind of deal?" Ben wanted to know, wincing, for his anger at the Forsythes was reaching a boiling point once more.

Again Felicity hesitated, which told Ben it was going to be even worse. "He...He said that he would send both me and Lettie back to Williamsburg if I would..." She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth in disgust. "...sleep with him."

"Oh Felicity, no!" Ben looked stricken more so than she had seen him yet. "Did he force you?"

"No. I did...agree, at first- " (Here Ben's mouth came open in horror, but she quickly held up her hand for silence) "- because I figured that I had nothing else to lose. My life was already ruined anyway. But then I changed my mind. I just couldn't go through with it. I kept thinking of you, of us, and I just couldn't. Even though you didn't care for me anymore, I still couldn't go through with it."

"Lissie, I love you! It kills me to know you've had to spend all of this time believeing that no longer loved you!" There was a waver in his voice from emotion.

"So you do not think I deserved to have Tristan force me?" She eyed him suspiciously.

"Dear God, no!" His face was crinkled with effort to not breakdown. "I hate myself for what I did to you! I hate this Tristan for what he tried to do to you! I want them all to suffer! I will make them all suffer!" He bit his lower lip fearfully, then said "He must have been awfully angry when you refused him, Lissie."

"Oh lord was he ever!" She laughed, but it wasn't the least bit humorous. It was a hysterical, bitter laugh that sent chills down Ben's spine. "Why, he hit me so hard I thought my head had spun completely around my neck the way an owl's head does!"

"Oh Lissie..."

"He tried to force me right there in the barn where had arranged to meet. I had even briught a knife out there with me, because I intended to kill him, but he knocked it out of my hand. And if Lettie had not come out...he would have succeeded in...well, you know."

He hugged her hanrd again, as if he just couldn't get her close enough to him. Hard and thoroughly, as if she was his alone, and he did consider her to be. More than ever. "God bless this Lettie! What became of her?"

"I don't know," Felicity sniffed quietly. "She set fire to the barn with every intention of burning Tristan up in it, but the fire spread so fast, and there were horses that wanted to be let out desperately. Some wood on fire fell from the rafters, separating us, and she made me leave without her. I don't know what happened to her after that. Lord Eric says he found out that there were no deaths reported, and Tristan was badly burned on one half of his face."

"That will be the least of his worries when I get ahold of him!" Ben growled wrathfully. "I'm gonna castrate that whoreson!"

A proper gentlewoman would never have stood for such language and violence, even if it was for the defence of her own honor, but Felicity was no blushing flower. She agreed completely, wanting vengeance herself. "No one seems to know where Lettie is, or even if she is alive or not. I would rather her have escaped and be somewhere unfound than to be dead or forced back into that house! She suffered far worse than I did."

"We will find her, Lissie, and we will take her home with us," Ben vowed, holding her close and tight. "Anyone who has saved the life of my love has saved me life as well. I am endebted to Lettie."

It pleased her to hear him say such loving things, but she wasn't past the pain he had caused her. He had her trust to win back now, and she was not feeling too generous right now. She still loved him tremendously, whcich made the pain in her heart all the more raw. She had to take a deep breath when she heard him say, "Go on, Lissie. Tell me everything, how you got hurt."

"I did as Lettie told me to do, although I was willing not to go without her. I ran, and I did not look back. I escaped the very same way she and I had planned: by climbing a tree in the garden and dropping down on the other side of the fence by one of its braches that went out over the fence. Then I ran and ran until I thought I was going to die from running! I crawled under the limbs of a pine and curled up to sleep. It was so cold."

"My sweet, sweet Lissie!" Ben nearly cried in shock. " 'Tis a wonder you didn't freeze to death!"

She shrugged indifferently. "I had on a heavy woolen dress and a cloak. I managed. But the worst was that my body had become used to having Reginald's powders! I had even consumed less of them in my meals by not eating much. I was...addicted, you could say. Suddenly I was completely without them and my insides were in revolt. I was so sick that I fell over a sheep the following morning."

"A sheep?" Ben looked worried. "Is that when this duke found you?"

"Aye. But at the time I did not know he was a duke. I thought he was one of Forsythe's men, coming to take me back.: She inhaled again, deeply, dreading the forthcoming confession. "I would rather be dead than to go back to that living tomb he calls a manor, Ben. My head hurt so bad I thought it was going to burst! I just...wanted it all to be over, I couldn't take it anymore. So I cut my own wrists open."

Ben's mouth dropped open in horror.

She didn't like being stared at, so she did not look him in the face. She turned away from him moodily. Surely he couldn't be condescending to her when she ahd suffered so much! He had better not, she thought angrily. She folded her arms protectively over her chest and continued, "Lord Eric bound my wrists up in the linen of hsi shirt and took me himself to the Babcock's cottage, where that nice family took care of me and helped me get over my need for the powders. 'Tis a need that has not completely gone away, but it gets easier every day. I think."

This would be Ben's first test, she decided. Would he criticize her for attempting to take her own life? Suicide was a sin, a sure-fire way to hell if ever there was one. But if one was not in one's proper mind, then one could not truly be held accountable, could they? If Ben truly loved her as much as he yapped about, then he would not be cross with her, not that he had any real right to be. She held herself stiffly and waited.

He came to her, gathered her hands into his own and kissed the back of each one. "Let me see, Lissie. Show me where you cut yourself."

What did it matter? He had no idea of what she had been through. Why should she be ashamed of something she only vaguely recalled doing? Silently she removed the grey fingerless gloves, tossed them to the little sofa, and held the insides of her wrists out for him to see. She no longer needed the cuts to be wrapped in linens, and the gloves had been to hide the ugly gashes. There was a raised red slash over each one, the scarred flesh still trying to heal with the stitches having only been removed a few days ago by herself. everlasting proof of her temporary madness.

She scrutinized Ben's heartsick expression as he examined each wrist with tear-filled eyes.

"He did this to you," he murmured darkly. "His poison made you do this. This is not your fault." To her surprise he brought each scarred wrist up to his lips for a firm kiss. "Don't you see, Lissie? We were meant to be together! The Lord has kept us both alive so that we can be together! We were meant to be!" He held her forearms to his chest as she regarded him somberly. "I have hurt you and I will pay. But I'll be damned if I allow you to be hurt by anyone in any way ever, ever again!"

Surprising her even further, he moved quickly to scoop her up in his arms again and took her to the sofa near the fire. He sat her down so that her legs were across his lap, her back against a sofa-arm, and his body turned toward her so that he could hold her rather snugly- and so that she could not get up and away from him again. He couldn't bear that. He'd been apart from her too long, so long that he needed to feel her physically to comprehend that shw was indeed for real. Although she didn't resist him, she did not look like she believed he was here for the right reasons.

"Tell me about my family, Ben," she told him sadly. "How is my father? How is every one?"

Ben looked fatigued. "I cannot say that they are well, Felicity, because no one smiles, no one can find any peace with you gone. No one has been the same. Your father has recovered from his wounds, but he would heal a lot faster and a lot better with you home. Just another thing to hate Forsythe for! I know your parents are disappointed in me- I am, too! But no one is angrier at me than Nan. She utterly despises me, and I can't blame her, but even when we return, she will not be pleased to hear that we will still be married."

Felicity's gaze fell, noting that Ben had looked apprehensive when he'd made that last statement, as though he was scared to death that she was going to contradict him, to tell him no; there would be no wedding, ever. But she said nothing, wanting Ben to worry that she would not marry him. Boy, did it show all over his handsome face! And Nan, dear sweet, loyal Nan! She hoped her younger sister bawled Ben out good. From the looks of Ben's expression, she had.

"I had been up north looking for you, since Lady Templeton found a letter from her worthless nephew telling her that he had gone to New York. But yet he had been spotted by one of her servants in town that very morning. We all believed he was taking you to New York to board a ship to England." He frowned self-loathingly. "And all that time I spent north, you were being taken to England from Yorktown. Both Walter Wheaton and Mr. Haverty had gone with me, and they nearly had to drag me back to Williamsburg because your father wanted me to go on the ship he had found me passage on. I was ready to jump on the first ship I came across! He wanted to come with me, but he was still so weak it would not have gone well for him."

Felicity nodded, contemplating the truth in that. Ben wondered if she was going to inquire as to whether anyone came with him or not. That was something else he worried deeply about, because he had just found her; he didn't want to share her with Elizabeth and Arthur or anyone else just yet. If she did ask, he would tell her the truth, of course, but he sisn't want her to ask. So he said quickly:

"Your mother is being very strong for all of us. William and Polly are so worried for you that they are behaving incredibly well. But nothing is the same without you, Lissie. Every day is like you said, an eternity. We cannot do anything without you there. There is just no real living without you."

She was still quiet.

"I have some surprises for you, Lissie," he said, trying to sound a little more cheerful, with a gentle smile. "They are good surprises, too. At least I hope you think they will be. Before I left williamsburg I wrote to my father, and I shall only say that he is helping me."

"Ben," she sighed, not feeling up to any more surprises, even good ones right now, "please don't tell me things like that so soon. I feel like I have had the wind knocked out of me repeatedly. I need time to recover." Let him be fearful that I will not marry him! Let him worry that he has ruined any chance of reconciliation between us! At this moment I do not feel very forgiving. God, I love him, but he has broken my heart so much I don't know if I can get past it. I need time.

His soulful brown eyes beheld such a look of pain that it made her cringe inside. "You really thought no one would come for you?"

"I didn't think anyone would know where I was, and I didn't think Father would be well enough to try, which I was right about after all." She sighed tensely. "I ceertainly did not expect to see you ever again."

"I am so sorry, love." Ben placed a hand over hers. His touch was warm and caring, making it very hard for Felicity to be angry. But she wanted to be angry. Just for a little while longer, maybe. Ben had to know that he had hurt her immensely, that winning her back was not going to be an wasy thing to do. He must have been sensing her thoughts, for he said, "I know telling you I'm sorry isn't enough. Bit I mean to prove it, Felicity, no matter how long it takes."

"If you say so." Lord she was tired! The warmth of the fire and Ben's very presence were a lethal combination where comfort was concerned. Amazing how she could be so furious with him and yet so happy to see him! In her life she'd never felt so many opposites all at once! It was a blow to the gut, all right. "I want so much to believe you, Ben..."

"You will, Lissie. You don't have to believe me now. A person's actions mean more than their words. You'll see."

She sighed again and said nothing. Evening was coming on and she felt absolutely spent. Ben laced the fingers of one of his hands through the fingers of one of hers. He met her eyes with a serious look despite a warm smile. "I will help you find your way back to yourself, Lissie. I promise!"

"We'll see," she said softly and yawned. Ben grinned.

"I missed you so damn much! Your voice, your eyes, your smile, even your yawn. I missed everything about you! We have so much wasted time to make up for." She nooded, her silence making him worry again. He leaned twoard her and whispered as meaningfully as he could, "I've got you back, Lissie. I will never give up on us. Mark me, I won't! Never!"

She had to bite her bottom lip to keep the tears back. She could barely manage a nod in reply. Then Ben, overcome with emotion and exhaustion himself, removed his cloak and coat, laid them aside, then surprised her yet again by rearranging their physical situation to where they were bot on their left sides with him was laying behind her, his arms about her tightly, enfolding her snugly. His face was at the bend of her neck, where he kissed her firmly, gave her a squeeze and said, "I was beginning to think I would never jhold you like this again. I'm so terribly afraid that you are going to vanish like a ghost! Please do not vanish without me."

"I shall try not," she replied, wanting to smile but feeling it better not to. Her anger had to be allowed to run its course. If he truly meant what he said about no matter how long it took, then she was going to give him ample opportunity to prove it.

So Ben and Felicity fell asleep there on the little sofa by the fire, silently revelling in the closeness that seemed so familiar and yet so new. Both of them were aware that were having to get to know each other all over again. There was a joy in that, and a sadness in knowing that it didn't have to be this way. Guilt was eating Ben Davidson alive. Anger consumed Felicity Merriman. Neither of them were used to such tortures, but they were once more in each others' presence, and that presented an unspoken promise of the beginning of healing. Felicity rested her arms upon his and let sleep come upon her, not caring what was to happen next. After experiencing every known emotion in such a short time, 'twas a wonder she hadn't passed out by now. Ben seemed to be the same way.

He lovingly kissed her temple, removed the mobccap from her head and loosened the ribbon holding her hair back and rubbed his face in it. He hugged her hard. Then he reached for his cloak and covered the both of them with it. Finally, before allowing sleep to wash over him, he whispered, "I love you so much, Felicity Davidson."

Her deep inhale was her reply. Her mind answered, I love you too, Ben. But I cannot believe you. Not yet, not now. I DO want to be felicity Davidson some day. But I have to know that you will never hurt me like that again." Then sleep came.

Of course the duke was concerned about the young man and his guest having been gone upstairs for so long. So he sent maggie up to see about them. Maggie was apprehensive about not hearing anything from within the room that Felicity stayed in. It seemed that they all had heard yelling not too long ago, then nothing. She had become quite protective of the girl in the weeks she had been here. Maggie knocked softly on the door and waited. "Miss?" she inquired discreetly. "Are ye comin' down to dinner, you and the young man?"

Not recieving an answer, she cracked open the unlocked door and peeped inside. No one was on or in the bed. She looked to the fireplace and then saw the two of them lying together on the sofa. Plumb worn out. Sleeping, nothing more. Maggie ventured on in, curious, hoping not to wake them since they looked so peaceful and in deep sleep. So romantic! thought she, with a cocked head and warm smile. She considered waking them for dinner, but knowing Felicity did not sleep well at night she thought better of it and let them be. She went back down to the duke and reported what she'd seen.

"No. 'Tis best that they remain undisturbed. They will either wake in the morning, or when their stomachs growl," said the duke with a grin. "Let's you and I eat and let the squire take his girls home to their supper. This has been quite a day!"

He had instructed Squire Babcock to keep the Gooch tied up in the barn until Constable Poon was available. Rollie Newton had been sent back to Bristol, to the Stag's Head Inn to relate all that had happened to 'Mr. and Mrs. Pratt' and Mr. Weddington. Eric considered going down to the Babcock barn to question this dispicable Gooch himself. Prosecuting the lout would mean bringing the Forsythes into the picture, and Felicity would not like that, but justice had to be done. Young Mr. Davidson would agree. The Forsythes had gotten away with too much. To let them get off free would be like letting them know they were allowed to get away with anything. Felicity no longer had a say in the matter now. Eric had learned 'twas not violence she feared, but merely having to deal with anyone named Forsythe again. But as duke, it was his responsiblity to see that the laws were upheld. Yes, the Forsythes would have to be brought to justice.

* * *

When Felicity finally woke, she had the heavy sensation of having been asleep for hours, like the effects of a drug, only the sort of drug that wasn't harmful. She woke up to the sensations of fingers stroking her hair, her cheek. Warm fingers. Ben was still beside her, still holding her close with one arm, obviously already awake.

She groaned and frowned, trying to get her eyes to open. "Ben...?" she mumbled groggily.

"Aye, love," came his soft reply so near to her ear. "I'm right here. I always will be." He kissed her temple.

She inhaled deeply, attempting to get some sense of time about herself. "Are we..did we sleep all evening?"

Ben's smiling lips were on her cheek. "Yes to that, too. We not only slept all evening, but all night and into the morning."

Her eyes snapped open wide. "You mean it is morning now? We missed dinner...and slept?"

"Are you all right, Lissie?" Concern was all over his sleepy face, though he didn't look half as groggy as she was feeling.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Quite a while. I just wanted to watch you sleep. It's been so long since I've held you, too damn long since I've studied your face. How could I ever have been so foolish..." He wanted to hear her say that it was all right, that she forgave him, that she loved him, too. But the sleepy smile he got in response was all he had a right to expect. It would be enough.

"Ben, please, let us not wake up to that. You're here, and we are going home soon. Let us...just enjoy that for now."

"Anything you say, pretty Lissie."

As he hugged her tightly and breathed in the scent of her, delighted beyond words at the feel of her, so warm and real, Felicity found a temporary comfort in his warmth as well. It did indeed feel so good to be back in the arms of the man she had loved forever, but there was still sadness and anger. Two terrible things to have to wake up to. But Ben was here, in England- here, at the home of the Duke of Bel Hastings, a place she never thought to see anyone from home. Today would be a step closer to reconciliation. Nothing would happen quickly, but a start was something she thought would never happen. What other miracles would the day bring?

The moment she began to sit up, Ben was scrambling out from behind her, over her, so that he could get his cloak and coat out of the way and help her stand. He steadied her on her feet as she looked about for where she had kicked her shoes off, then stepped into them as Ben held her arms. "Ben, I'm fine," she insisted, smiling on the inside but looking sleepy and grumpy on the outside.

"Well, I'm not," he told her nervously. "I'm still afraid you're going to disappear right before my eyes! I must stay in contact with you, 'Tis the only way I can be sure you're real!"

"I'm as real as you are, Ben," she assured him with a yawn. "And I am really hungry."

He was right with her as she crossed to the lovely, feminine vanity set before the window to splash cold water onto her face from the mini-basin. "So what does one eat here in a duke's palace?"

When she reached for a towel, he was there holding it. "The very same things we common folks eat. Kippers, biscuits, bacon, eggs, ham and the like. He just has it served on the shiniest silver you've ever seen. And this is not a palace. Eric calls it just a mansion."

'Eric'? Ben mentally inquired as he watched Felicity pat her pixie face dry. Not 'His Grace'? Aloud, he said, "Well compared to the Governor's Palace, this is far more fancier! This is what a palace should look like!"

Felicity shrugged indifferently. She stepped past Ben to the vanity mirror, where she looked at herself warily. She didn't look as wretched as before, but she didn't look exactly over her bout with the powders, either. She grabbed a silver-plated boar's hair bristle brush and began de-tangling her mussy red mane. Ben watched her as though he was thoroughly entranced. When he spoke he sounded spell-bound.

"I missed watching you do things. I love the way you move, the sound of your breathing. You may be angry with me, Lissie, and I understand. But please don't make me be far from you. I cannot bear it. I've been away from you too long."

"So you say." She met his steady gaze suspiciously in the standing oval mirror. "I want to believe you, Ben, but I can't. Just...not yet. All right? I need time to recover from all of this. Like I told you, I never thought I'd see you again, and I find it to be a joyous and sad thing at the same time. Please, if you really do love me like you keep saying, let me re-adjust to you. Do not burden me with expectations. Can you do that for me?"

Slowly, gently, he turned her around and gripped her shoulders with resolved assurance. "I will do anything you ask, Felicity, so long as it does not require putting space between us. I am insane for hugs."

She smiled at him crookedly. "We have a bargain, then."

He sighed heavily with relief, smiled sentimentally, pulled her to him in a fierce embrace that restricted her breathing for a moment. "Dear God, you feel like Heaven! My Heaven..."

"Where's my cap? We must make ourselves presentable for breakfast. Assuming the duke is still having breakfast, that is." She watched Ben stride over to the little sofa and snatch her mobcap up off the floor, plump it back up for her, then give it to her carefully with an enthusiastic smile. Damned if he wasn't tugging at her soul! Those puppy-dog eyes, his very presence, so warm and attentive, were going to kill her yet.

"Thank you." she said as emotionlessly as she could manage, and adjusted the cap on her head. "Put your coat on, Ben, and we'll go down."

He did as she told him, boy. Eager to please, eager to keep himself as close to her side as possible without running her over, he took her arm companionably as they walked out of the room. Felicity wondered how on earth she was going to stay mad at him for awhile when he was being so damn sweet.

But then something occured to her...

* * *

AUTHOR BLAB: All right, where are my reviewers? Where'd y'all get to?


	24. Chapter 24: Faithful Friends?

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Pt3, Ch24: Faithful Friends?

When Felicity and Ben entered the sun room arm and arm, the duke rose from his table, smiling pleasantly as Felicity curtsied most properly and Ben, looking awkward, bent forward at the waist in his stiff attempt at bowing (he still wasn't accustomed to being in the presence of a highly-ranked Englishman). Immediately, Felicity disengaged herself from Ben's arm and grinned brightly, walking forward to Lord Eric, who held his hands out to her in friendly greeting. Much to Ben's surprise, she took them with a squeeze of her own quite happily.

"Good morning, Miss Felicity!" Eric beamed, obviously in good spirits. "We were beginning to wonder if the both of you would make it to breakfast or not! 'Tis nearly ten o'clock."

She blushed girlishly. "Forgive me, your grace, but we were so tired, and we'd had so much to discuss!"

"That's perfectly acceptable." He gestured to his fine round table, which was covered in a lovely buttercreme-colored cloth and set with gleaming silver complete with a silver candelabra in the center with two lit white candles. A fire was going in the marble fireplace, making the room warm and cozy, which it already seemed to be with its bright yellow walls above white wainscoting. The ceiling was even beautiful, with its rococo cornices and decorative plasterworks. Everything had a light and cheerful touch about it, all accredited to Evangeline, whose optimistic flair possessed every room in the house. Felicity had often wondered how the duke could have been so melancholy in a such an amazing, uplifitng place. He had loved his wife more than anything.

"Join me, both of you. I will have Maggie bring you some hot-"

"Maggie _is _already already bringing it," said Maggie, bustling into the room with a tray of hot food on it. I heard 'em comin' down." The way Lord Covington was grinning proved that only his beloved care-taker could interrupt him like that and still be able to busy-body about the table. Eric pulled a chair out for Felicity, but Ben hurried forward to hold it, too, as Felicity went to sit in it. She gave her smiling thanks to the duke, and Ben felt an intense flash of hot jealousy right away. Just how close had this 'duke,' who was obviously much older than his Lissie, gotten to her in the time she'd been here? Squire Babcock had said the duke was a widower of three years, and should consider re-marrying. But did the man have designs on Felicity? _He'd better not have_, Ben scowled, _because I will not have it! Felicity is mine!_

Ben was very aware that Felicity had believed that she would never see him again. She'd had every right to think that. 'Twas not as if he'd left her with any hope or assurance, and he had cursed himself relentlessly for his thoughtlessness. If he lost Felicity to another man- especially this suave, handsome, protective _duke_- 'twas exactly what he deserved. But he did not want that to happen. She _had _to know he still loved her, more than ever!

As Maggie fussed about the trio at the table, which was set before a splendid clear window overlooking the gardens and the hedge-maze, Eric dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin and inquired, "I trust that you two young people have resolved your differences and are now reunited in joy?"

Felicity blushed and opened her mouth to speak, but Ben spoke first, sounding a little stiff : "We are together again, your grace, and we will get past our troubles in good time."

Felicity gave Ben a surprised look, and the duke merely looked from Ben to Felicity and back, his slight smile unchanging, for he could easily see that things were _not _settled between the two of them, but he was not going to pry. He simply nodded. "Very well! Let us eat."

Maggie set the two young guests a plate of hot sausage and eggs, fresh biscuits and tea, which they put into right away. The duke attempted conversation again. "Miss Felicity, I have heard from the captain of my ship, and he insists he will be ready to ship out by the end of next week. Seems more timber was needed for repairs, but they are coming along nicely."

Felicity perked up immediately. "Oh that's very good news, my lord! This means you will not be beating me at chess for much longer."

This time it was Ben who gave the surprised look at Felicity. Eric grinned broadly and said "But have I not taught you well, Miss Merriman? We will still have a few evenings to do battle on the board yet."

She laughed softly, but it was forced. "Or 'tis only you enjoy winning!"

"I must confess, my dear, if England has lost the colonies, I can redeeem my country's loss by victory in sport!'

They both laughed. Ben scowled, not likeing this warm familiarity between them. So it would seem this duke was playing chess with Felicity during the evenings. That had been something _he _had always wanted to teach her, but had never got the chance. His face was feeling hot, as it always did when he got jealous or angry. And part of his anger came from knowing 'twas he who had left Felicity believeing he no longer loved her, that if any other man took interest in her, she had every right to show interest back.

_Was _she affectionately interested in this man?

Ben cleared his throat pointedly. "Does that mean you approve of your king's actions against the colonies, sir?"

The duke and Felicity exchanged a startled look. Said Felicity sternly, "Ben, really! Lord Covington and I play chess because it keeps my mind occupied! To keep me from letting _other certain depressions _make me sick! And I am grateful for the distractions he has provided for me during my stay in _his _home. What is the matter with you?"

"Do not chide him so, Miss Felicity," said the duke gently, coming to Ben's defence (much to Ben's chagrin). "Were I in his stead, I would be quite protective of _my _lady as well."

Felicity was instantly forgiving while Ben blushed furiously. "If you say so, my lord. You have been so very kind to me while I have been here. I do not wish for you to think _all _of us colonists are hot heads." She gave Ben an unapproving glare.

"Mr. Davidson, I do not approve of my king waging war on the colonies," Eric said, unoffended. "As a matter of fact, I believe him to be putting this fine land into poverty with war after war. I have no argument against your countrymen, or the French, for that matter. I was merely lightening the mood."

"Yes, sir," said Ben grumpily, looking as moody as if he had just been put in his place by a superior officer in the army.

"Now let us speak of important matters, Miss Felicity." And the duke's expression did turn from one of mild amusement to one of urgency. "You do wish to bring Reginald Forsythe and his cousin Tristan to justice, do you not?"

"We want them shot!" declared Ben, his eyes flashing outrage. "They cannot get away with what they've done to Felicity! Prison is too good for them!"

"I understand, Mr. Davidson, how you feel," Eric said calmly while Felicity looked worried. "But the law must prevail if the citizens of this country are to have any faith in those who are supposed to protect them."

"And if both Forsythes continue living they will come after Felicity! I will not have that!" Ben argued back, his heart racing. "My loyalty is to Felicity, not to England!"

"Ben, please!" Felicity finally got to say. "Calm down. _I _am the one at the center of this, so _I _will have my say." To the duke she said, "You have told me that unless I was an heiress or the daughter of a wealthy man who holds a considerable amount of property, the most Reginald could be punished is by a year or two in prison. Although I am neither of those, what would the laws have to say about the abduction of a woman from another country?"

"Imprisonment, fines, and/or the pillory." Eric felt bad for his young guests when he saw their disappointed faces. "As soft as Reginald Forsythe is, he would never last long in a prison or a pillory, and he can no longer afford to pay fines. I seriously doubt that his uncle and Tristan would come to his aid no matter what."

Before Ben could speak in anger about what _should _be done about Forsythe, Felicity said quickly, "Reginald does not frighten me. Even I could beat him senseless. 'Tis his cousin I am afraid of. He had been burned and will want revenge, as we have already discussed. What can the law do about _him_?"

Eric sighed thoughtfully. "The courts do not rely on a woman's testimony as they really should, but with me to back you, I believe we can charge him with abuse of slave women and attempted physical harm to you. We can convince the authorities that his burns were the results of his unchristianly behavior." From the way he paused, Felicity knew he was about to ask or say something she wasn't going to like. "Now, Felicity, Reginald and Tristan cannot go unpunished. I have to know now, would you be willing to press charges, or will I have to take it upon myself to do so."

Ben wanted to say something, obviously, for he squirmed in his seat and looked barely controllable, but Felicity just stared at the table-top. The duke was waiting for an answer, and putting it off would not do any of them any good, so she frowned and inquired, "Does this mean I would have to _see _the Forsythes again, your grace?"

"I will not lie to you, Felicity. Most likely it will."

Ben could not stay quiet a moment longer. " Why should she? Has she not been through enough hell because of them already?"

"It is all right, Ben," Felicity said firmly, giving him her best reassuring look. "The duke can protect me, not that I need it, and I suppose _you _will be with me if I have to see them again?"

He gripped her hand on the table supportively. "Oh absolutely! No one can keep me from you, ever again, Lissie. You cannot get rid of me. I am gong to spend the rest of my life at your side!"

She smiled meagerly. Said Lord Eric, "I had hoped you would be brave for me, Felicity, and for Lettie. If she is still at the Forsythe estate, then I can help you get her out of there."

"Oh would you?" Relief and gladness washed over her pale face. "Then yes, I can be brave. Of course I can be brave! I don't want to leave without her! Do you know yet if she is alive?"

"No." He looked grave. "But you know where the slave quarters are. If you had to look for her- if she is alive- would you know all the places to look?"

"Yes!" She sat bolt upright in her chair. "I do hate to admit it, but I do know the dark corners of that place and where the slaves are kept. 'Tis abominable!"

"Oh Lissie," sighed Ben, with love in his eyes and hate for her having to know that as well. "I shall be right by your side!"

"Excellent," Lord Covington murmured, pleased. "Then the both of you will be accompanying myself, my lawyer, a constable and quite possibly guards to the Forsythe estate tomorrow."

"Yes!" Felicity gulped nervously. Her mental reaction was _Oh dear Lord, I'm going back. I am going to be back in that place that nearly killed me. Forsythe Manor...I swore I'd never go back. Now I'm going back!_

Her anxious face must have been saying it all, for Ben put his arm about her shoulders as he told her with confidence, "I will be with you, Lissie. I will see to it that none of those bastards hurt you ever again!"

She nodded wordlessly, no longer feeling up to eating anymore. She had successfully finished one full plate, but finishing a second was now out of the question. "I know you won't, Ben," she said softly.

A figure in the doorway caught all of their attentions. Lazlo entered the room, bowed briefly and said, "You have company, your grace. Or rather, the _young lady _does."

"Me?" Felicity gulped, her natural reaction these days to become worried and nervous: was it Tristan? Had the Forsythes found her? Beside her, Ben sighed. Felicity did not know that Ben had just figured out who it might be.

Eric rose slowly, laid his cloth napkin down. "I will see to this, Miss Felicity. Do remain here, please."

"Ye-yes, of course." She took a deep breath.

Ben leaned close to her. "Remember I told you I had some surprises for you?" One of his fingers stroked her cheek affectionately. "If I am correct in my thinking, this should be one, or _two _I should say, of those surprises."

She gazed at him uncertainly, and it pained him to know that she still did not trust him yet. But it was okay, he had no right to expect more than that. It only made him more determined to make her see that he was sorry and that he loved her more than life itself.

Lazlo reappeared in the doorway, smiling. "Miss Felicity, the duke requests your presence in the foyer. 'Twould seem all is well with these guests of yours."

Ben looked a little disappointed, for he still wanted to have Felicity all to himself. Couldn't Elizabeth have waited until tomorrow at the least?

"Thank you, Laz," Felicity said nervously, then turned to Ben. "Are you coming with me?"

"Ha!" replied Ben, relenting to a grin. "Just you try going anywhere _without _me!" He rose, held her chair as she stood, then offered her his arm. Following Laz, Felicity found it difficult to breathe. But if the duke said all was well, then she should trust him, right? But still...in her present state of mind she couldn't fully trust anyone or anything unless she judged it with her own eyes. She took a deep breath.

"Felicity!" a dear, sweet all-too-familiar voice rang out in the main hall. And just as it was when she set eyes upon Ben Davidson yesterday for the first time in months, the sight of Elizabeth Cole coming at her in a flurry of rapid, petite footsteps and grabbing her into a manic hug was overwhelming!

"Eliza...Elizabeth?" she stammered, her green eyes filling with tears uncontrollably as she slowly responded, wrapping her arms about the tiny figure of her friend. "Is it...really you?"

"Yes, yes!" cried Elizabeth, hugging her ferociously. "Oh Lissie, I'm so sorry! So very, very sorry! Oh how I've missed you! Please tell me you are all right, oh tell me!"

Felicity sniffed, trembled and lapsed into crying herself. "I'm well now, Beth. I am well."

"Oh praise the Lord we found you!"

Both young woman cried quietly while the duke and Lazlo stood nearby, having turned away slightly so that they would not be overcome by the emotional scene themselves. Yet another familiar voice rang out, "Felicity! I say! Have you forgotten me?"

Gasping, Felicity raised her head from Elizabeth's shoulder and beheld her friend Arthur Pratt, striding forward from the main doors where he had been standing. The bright-faced, beaming blond Brit opened his arms wide and gathered both Elizabeth and Felicity to himself in a joyous embrace. "You are alive!" he exclaimed happily. "At last! We are all together as we should always be!"

Felicity looked at Elizabeth through watery, emotional eyes, and said "Elizabeth...does this mean you and Arthur are..."

Elizabeth laughed through her tears, "Yes! I told him I absolutely refused to marry him until he helped me bring you home!"

"I am but a husband in training," said Arthur, blushing brightly.

"I thought everything had been ruined!" Felicity cried in wonder. "Our friendship, our lives, everything!"

"Oh no, Lissie!" Elizabeth insisted, clasping her best friend pale face with warm hands. "Everything is _not _ruined! 'Tis all my fault, all of this, simply because I didn't wait to find out the truth of what I saw! Your father was right when he said you cannot always trust your eyes! You have to trust your _heart_!"

"Elizabeth, how could you ever think that I could do such a thing!" Felicity sniffed wretchedly. "Of course I love Arthur, just as I love _you_! The two of you are part of my family! He is merely the second brother I never had. I could never-!"

"I know, I know!" Elizabeth's heartbreak and self-loathing was as plain on her face as Felicity had seen it on Ben's. "Believe me, Lissie, I have suffered for my behavior, just as Ben has, all of this time! It was just a horrible thing to endure with you gone! God forgive me, Lissie, for being so weak! Can you ever, ever forgive me?"

There was a tense pause, then Felicity beamed, nodded quickly and embraced her friend fiercely again. "I want to get past it all, Beth, truly I do! Once I am home again I know I can heal better, like Father will."

Arthur was misty-eyed, too. He ran a thumb under his nose (for lack of a proper hankie) and sniffed, "We will all be better once we are home again. We can laugh and make merry just as we did before!"

Elizabeth grinned through her tears, clasped Felicity's hands and said, "Yes! We shall all be well again! Arthur and I will marry, and you and Ben shall marry..." She saw Felicity's expression falter, turn uncertain as the emotional red-head glanced back at Ben (who was watching her with brown eyes full of hope). "Lissie, is there somewhere we can go and talk?"

"The gardens, Miss!" This came from Maggie, who had taken it upon herself to never miss an exciting moment in the manor. She had heard the chatter of feminine goings-on from all the way back in the inside-kitchen and came a-runnin'. "There's a lovely walk all around the gardens. Ye can have privacy there while ye do your catchin' up!"

Lord Eric grinned.

"Oh! Pardon me!" said Elizabeth quickly, disengaging herself from Felicity so that she could offer Maggie a proper curtsy, and Arthur bowed. "Elizabeth Cole, ma'am. This is my fiance, Mr. Arthur Pratt. We are both originally from England, but we have been living in the Virginia colony for years. Felicity is our dearest friend in the world and we were determined to find her and take her home to her family."

"Oh I do so love a happy ending!" Maggie beamed, curtsying as well. "I'm Magdalene, Miss, but everyone calls me Maggie, so I hope ye will as well. Any friend of Miss Felicity's a friend of mine. Would ye care for some hot tea after your walk?"

"Yes Ma'am!" said Arthur, eager for eats and drinks.

"Arthur, you are staying put," Elizabeth told him wife-ishly. "This is between Felicity and me, alone. We have so much to talk about, so much to catch up on, that it can only be the two of us."

This did not sit well with Ben, who stepped forward to slip an arm about Felicity's too-slender waist. "Elizabeth, I cannot let Felicity out of my sight. I promised her that I wouldn't, and I have broken too many promises to her already. I will not break another."

"It is all right, Ben," Felicity assured him calmly, collecting herself mentally. "The gardens are well protected. I need this time with Elizabeth, you must understand."

Elizabeth actually glared at Ben. "According to what the innkeeper's stableboy told us about your going off on your own yesterday morning, you've had time with Felicity alone already! You did not wait for us, like I wanted you to."

Ben sighed. "I did not come all of this way just to sit around and wait, Elizabeth. You meant well, but my life depended on getting her back, and no one was going to keep me from her."

"Ben Davidson, I was not trying to keep you-"

"Stop this arguing," Felicity intrrupted tiredly. "I realize the both of you care about me, and it means ever so much. But arguing will accomplish nothing. There are two Forsythe men in this country who are after me, one of them for revenge, and the other simply because he is an obsessive lunatic. The last thing I need is arguing between two people I love so very much! Has there not been enough pain and anger caused by the Forsythes already? Please, for sanity's sake at least, let there be no more ill feelings among the four of us!"

"Well said, Miss Felicity." This came from Lord Covington, who came forward with a smile."I have gathered that this has been quite a war for you, and war makes the young feel very old. Is that not correct, Mr. Davidson?"

Ben didn't know what irked him more: the fact that the duke was correct, or the fact that the duke had a charming, winning smile aimed directly at Felicity. He forwned. "You have been in a war...sir?"

"Oh yes, young man, indeed I have." Eric smiled abidingly. "I fought against the Spanish at sea. I was a part in Britain's capture of Havana. Yes, son, I know war all too well. One does not need to be engaged with weapons to experience it, either."

Ben didn't like being called 'son,' either, but he was humbled by the duke's admission of having been active in war. If only the man would stop smiling at Felicity like that! Out of sheer curiosity, Ben asked, "You were a naval officer?"

"Yes. Promoted all the way to captain before succombing to tropical fevers, which reduced me to uselessness as long as I was in such tropical climates. I was terribly upset that I had to be sent back home as close to my death bed as I have ever been."

"Aye!" agreed Maggie, chiming in as witness. "We thought his time had come he was so bad off! Took 'im a good two years of 'is young life to get back to health, and even then the fevers returned now and then. I tell ye, it takes a lot out of a man, those tropic fevers! If Lady Eve hadn't been visiting-" She stopped, looking at the duke as if she expected to be scolded for bringing up the late duchess so brazenly.

" 'Tis all right, Maggie. Yes, if my late wife had not come to visit me during the time I was ill, I might not have gotten better at all. Of course, she and I were only courting then, but I knew then she loved me and that fact alone was my salvation."

"And Felicity is mine," Ben told him firmly, yet without malice."I cannot ever lose her again."

"Ben, please," Felicity said. "I will be perfectly fine in the gardens with Elizabeth. She and I need to talk. Give me this, will you?"

After a moment, he smiled and drew her to him to kiss her cheek. "Never could refuse you, Lissie. At least let me walk you out?"

She could have been bitter and told him 'Yes, you did refuse me. The morning you left me behind Father's store." But she didn't feel like being bitter, not with Elizabeth and Arthur here, two other people she thought she would never see again. Hatred was such a horrible feeling; a nasty, sickeneing feeling that weighed the heart down and tortured the soul. She did not like being angry. It was so exhausting! Her fingers absently smoothed down the collar of his coat. "Very well, Ben."

He removed his coat and draped about her shoulders so that she needn't go upstairs to fetch her cloak. Elizabeth, Felicity and Ben curtsied and bowed in respect to Lord Covington and exited toward the back of the manor. Ben took Felicity's arm as they went. He felt anxious and nervous about letting her out of his sight. Even here. He no longer trusted fate. Softly he said, "You will not be long, will you?"

She sighed tolerantly. "No, Ben, I will not."

"But we are in no hurry," scolded Elizabeth, flashing Ben a irritated look. "Felicity and I need to have some time together. You can entertain Arthur for a while."

Felicity smiled.

"Arthur is already engaged in conversation with Lord Covington about the sheep hanging around out front. He entertains himself." Ben looked just as irritated.

"Then just stand about and brood, like you did aboard the ship." suggested Elizabeth, her annoyance growing. "You managed just fine like that."

"Well why can _you _not-"

"The both of you are doing it again." Felicity rubbed her forehead tiredly. "No more arguing or I swear I will put myself to bed and stay there until your spats are over!"

They got quiet.

As they emerged from the back doors and out onto the grand patio, Elizabeth dared to inquire, "Felicity, why _are _there so many sheep clustered on the front lawn?"

She chuckled softly. "I'll tell you what I know, but even I can't figure it out."

Looking quzzical, Elizabeth hooked her arm through her friend's as Ben released Felicity at the top of the steps leading down to the garden paths. He looked out over the hedge maze, which Elizabeth was also amazed by, and watched the two young ladies veer off to the left of the maze arm-in-arm. His stomach was in knots. No way could he just go back inside and wait. He just got Felicity back and now she was out of his sight again. It made him so feel so damn empty. His arms ached to hold her tight, his mouth hungered to become reacquainted with hers, his eyes burned to look her over.

He was in love like never before.

He sat down at the top of the steps to wait. It was cool out, not cold, but somewhere between winter and spring. He folded his arms over his knees and imagined what it would be like to enter the maze and get lost in it with Felicity. It was a fantasy he was really getting into when he heard footsteps behind and then beside him. The duke. He looked up questioningly.

"I have invited your friends to stay here at Bel Hall until the ship is ready. There was no need for their carriage to remain. I hope you do not mind."

Actually, Ben did mind. He wanted to go back to the Stag's Head Inn where he could have Felicity to himself. But to refuse the duke's kindness would not only unfairly insult him, but upset Felicity as well, seeing as how she clearly enjoyed it here. His reply was casual. "Of course not, sir. Thank you."

To his surprise, Lord Covington sat down beside him. "I know something is on your mind, young Ben. I can see it in your eyes even if I do not know you very well. There are some people who cannot help but wear their feelings on their faces because their hearts are so full of passion that they cannot hold it all in. At least that was my late wife's reasoning. I have found it to be true on many occasions. So I know what it is you want to ask. Ask it."

At first Ben felt awkward, not knowing quite what to make of this man, this duke, who was both friend and rival, it seemed. He hesitated, then figured it could cause no further harm. "Are you in live with Felicity?"

Eric Covington smiled and looked out over his own hedge maze absently. He let the tension between them linger just a moment longer before replying, "No, Ben, I am not." He heard Ben's breath release, then quickly added, "But that doesn't mean I was not tempted to be. What can I say? She is a beautiful, spirited little thing, even if she tries to hide it behind her mask of suspicion. This house has been devoid of a woman's lovliness and warmth, and your Felicity has been the first ray of light to have entered into it in three years. Oh, now don't look so concerned, Davidson. I would think that _everyone _falls in love with the girl in their own fashion when they meet her. My Evangeline was quite like that. No, I harbour no romantic feelings for her. Only admiration and friendship. You have nothing to fear from me."

_Now _Ben felt guilty! "I'm sorry, sir, your grace, for being so hot-headed. I just...I just love her so much."

"I know. 'Tis obvious."

He turned red. "Do you think she can forgive me for the way I acted that morning? I mean, she must have told you about how horrible I was to her...didn't she?"

Eric nodded slowly, his face showing no judgement or superiority. "She mentioned that her fiance abandoned her when she needed him most, that he did not believe her when she was telling him the truth. She did not mention names, but one doesn't need to have been schooled at Eton to put the pieces together." He watched Ben's gaze fall ashamedly. "Oh now don't be so self-sorry, lad. You made a mistake and now you have to make amends. Do not push for more than she can give you as of now. She can forgive, but not forget. So rather than beg her to forget, allow her to heal. It may take time, but it is not impossible." He grinned. "Let _love _decide when the time is right."

Ben nodded, feeling easier now. Lord Covington wasn't so bad after all. His titles of 'duke' and 'lord' had made him seem so intimidating and demanding of respect and formality at first, but beneath the titles, the air of wealth and power, he was just a man. A man who still loved his deceased wife and was obviously lonely, as all human beings got from time to time. _Once again, you nearly judged someone unfairly, _he chided himself irately. _How many more times are you going to hurt and insult someone before they just whip out a pistol and shoot you dead just to shut you up?_

Ben straightened himself a bit as Lord Eric began to rise, and asked, "Sir, if you don't mind me asking...why _are _there so many sheep clustered on your front lawn?"

Eric just grinned and shook his head.

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**Author's News: **On the night of the 24th I will be posting a Felicity and Ben one-shot Christmas piece, a sweet little gift for the best readers and reviewers in the world! Recently found out that I hadn't been getting any reviewer alerts because there is something going on with lj and AOL, a sort of 'disturbance in the e-mail force' and it would just figure that I had an AOL address. So I switched to , which is more appropriate for phoenixes, anyway. Hope you guys will like the one-shot!


	25. Chapter 25: Sleeping Arrangement

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Pt3, Ch 25: Sleeping Arrangement

Ring the bells, wake the kids, its that time again! Christmas, you ask? No! It's Disclaimer Time! YAY! I own no American Girl characters. I don't even like admitting to owning Forsythe, a character I made up! Anyone who wants him can have him. As for Arthur Pratt, he likes working with people, so who am I to hold his career as a comic-relief character back? Now the chapter:

* * *

He got tired of sitting and decided to pace. Back and forth, with his hands clasped behind his back. Ben Davidson worried and fretted that something was happening to Felicity and Elizabeth couldn't come for help. He tried to convince himself that he was only jumping to conclusions, that Felicity and Elizabeth really did have much to talk about, and that they were fine. _Girls like to talk when they get together, fool. Lissie and Beth have been long separated. Felicity is perfectly safe here, has been since the duke himself brought her here. The grounds are well-guarded, he said so himself. _And then the 'if's and but's' started up again, and 'twas all he could do to stay on the steps going down from the patio.

Although every now and then he would go down a couple more steps and pace.

According to Lazlo, who had come outside to see if he wanted anything in the way of food or drink, it had been two hours since the young ladies had gone into the gardens. Ben was right at his snapping point when he heard giggling coming from the high hedges and wiilowed gardens to the left of the hedge-maze, and there emerged Felicity and Elizabeth, strolling arm-in-arm, laughing even though their faces showed signs of crying. What an emotional reunion they must have had! Clearly, things seemed to be at peace between the two of them again. But Ben didn't truly care about that. He was so happy to see Felicity all right that he leapt off the steps and ran to her, grabbing her about the waist and twirling her around before setting her back down and hugging her hard.

"My goodness, Ben!" exclaimed Elizabeth, a little annoyed. "She is perfectly fine! What were you thinking might happen out there? You are so bloody impatient!"

"Aye. I most certainly am," Ben replied absently, not really caring what Elizabeth was thinking about him. He hugged Felicity tight until he heard her muffled protest at his neck, "Ben, I can't breathe!"

"Oh. Sorry." But he would not release her, not entirely. She gave him a dazed sort of smile as he adjusted the clasp of his cloak at her neck like an overprotective, over-attentive parental figure of sorts. "_Are _you all right?"

As Elizabeth sighed stiffly and shook her head, Felicity said lightly, "Yes, Ben, really. Do not react so!" She paused, looking him curiously in the eye. "Have you been waiting out here all of this time for me?"

"Of course! Where else would I be?"

Felicity seemed to be slightly amused by that. Her beautiful green eyes regarded him consideringly and he had to fight like hell inside to keep from grabbing her again and kissing her. Did she finally believe he loved her? Oh, it would be wonderful if she did! But he was going to take the duke's advice and not push for any more than she could give right now. She was smiling at him, and that made his heart soar like an eagle.

Having been invited to stay at Bel Hall until the ship was ready, Elizabeth, Ben and Arthur were naturally expected to dine with Lord Covington at meal times. That evening Elizabeth made Felicity put on one of the dresses she had brought from home, which Felicity recognized as being her friend's pale green one, more for daytime wear than dining with a duke, but Lord Covington insisted that they all be confortable at his table. As he told them, "We are not attending a party, merely eating!" Everyone found that to be most agreeable.

Ben paced like a nervous cat outside Felicity's door as Elizabeth tied the laces on the pale green dress she had made her friend put on. "You look lovely," she said softly as she turned Felicity about, and fluffed the ruffling at the elbows. "But so skinny! You simply must eat well before your mother sees you again. She will go into despair if she sees you looking so thin!"

Felicity half-smiled, thinking of her mother so very far away. "I suppose. I had to stop eating much for awhile so those powders I told you about wouldn't addle my brain while I was trying to escape with Lettie."

"What a fool I was not to believe you and Arthur had been poisoned," Elizabeth said ruefully, with the same kind of self-loathing that Ben expressed. "I shan't ever forgive myself for the way I reacted. 'Tis a miracle Arthur still loves me enough to marry me."

"Arthur loves you no matter what, Beth," Felicity told her sentimentally. "You are his world."

"As you are Ben's." She looked at Felicity somberly. "That fellow has been near impossible to put up with for the past few months. At sea he was nothing but a ghost haunting the decks. He _is _impossible to get on with when he has his mind set on something, which in this case was _you_."

Felicity sighed a little stressfully. "Please, Beth, you are not going to try to plead for him on his behalf, are you? I cannot take that right now, I just can't."

"Oh no, not at all. He knows better than to approach me for that. No, he wants to win you back all on his own. I just wanted to know if you can forgive him...and me, for that matter, for the wrong we have done to you and Arthur. I am just saying that I know how guilty Ben feels because I feel it myself. We do not _deserve _your forgiveness, but I will do anything to win your friendship back. Anything."

"And as I told you out in the gardens that I _do _forgive you. I don't want to think about that day anymore. I love you, Beth, and I know we will be close again in time. But with Ben...I just don't know. 'Tis different with him, because we were supposed to be married. He is the boy, the man, I was ready to pledge my heart to forever- not just my heart, but my body, my life...what about the next time it seems as though I have done something wrong when I really haven't? How can I trust that he will be there for me, to support me? As of now, I have no trust in him whatsoever, and love just isnt enough. I cannot endure another situation like this, no one is that strong. And Lord, I am so tired! Maybe its the powders, and maybe it's just this whole entire fiasco wearing me down at last, I dont know!"

Elizabeth's blue eyes were teary again. She gripped Felicity's shoulders and said with heart-driven determination, "You and Ben _will _find your way back to one another, I know you will! 'Tis time you need, that's all. Where there is love, there is _hope_."

"I hope you are right, Beth. Right now I do not feel very encouraged."

They hugged. "Oh Lissie, you will find your way back to yourself. I know you will!" As positive as Elizabeth sounded, however, inside she was very worried about Felicity's state of mind. Not worried that her beloved friend was insane or anywhere near it, but it was so unnerving to see Felicity Merriman, of all people, so spiritless and distant.

When Elizabeth opened the door of the room, Ben was right there, breathing a massive sigh of relief as Felicity came out, only to be pulled into Ben's eager embrace. He squeezed her hard then looked her up and down. "You look beautiful."

Felicity's face turned red. She smiled the slightest, feeling much too on-the-spot, and said " 'Tis only a day-dress, Ben. Let's just go down to supper now."

All the way to the duke's grand dining table Felicity could feel Ben's eyes on her. She didn't know whether to feel self-conscious or flattered. Or stressed! She had to admit to herself, and herself alone, that she was afraid to look at him, for the intensity in his brown eyes and the seriousness with which he was taking her was almost too much to bear. She feared she'd just give way and began sobbing out of relief in seeing him, having him near, having him touch her. She didn't want him to think everything was all right between them so soon.

And she wasn't all sure it ever would be.

Ben held her chair for her as she sat, then all three men sat after Felicity and Elizabeth. Lord Covington had two dining rooms in his home, one for formal gatherings and parties, the other for casual, small gatherings, such as this one. It was a warm room, with a festively-carved mable fireplace that featured fruit in its scrollwork. The room glowed with hues of amber and gold, making Felicity feel that the very season of autumn was the theme of the room. The handiwork of Lady Evangeline, no doubt. Felicity caught herself smiling a little.

Ben sat himself right beside her, even scooting his chair close so that he could keep one hand on her closest arm or chair arm. It certianly wasn't proper ettiquette for dining at a duke's table, but Ben didn't care. He was here for Felicity and no one else. All of his attentions, all of his energies, were focused on winning her back. And he had missed her so damn much that it was all he could do to keep himself off of her.

Talk ranged concerning everything from typical English weather to the Jacobite Rebellion and London's notorious Fleet Street. The topic of Fleet Street's illegal marriages brought up the subject of marriage in general, and a very disgusted Ben could not refrain form saying aloud, "The bastard Forsythe believes himself to be married to Felicity. It is not a marriage when the preacher has to be bribed, the bride poisoned, and the whole thing forced."

"Or unconsumated," added Felicity miserably, prompting Ben to squeeze her hand beneath the bronze-colored tablecloth.

Eric nodded. "I will most definately investigate into this bribery at St. Mary Recliffe's. No proper rector would have allowed such an action to take place in a house of the Lord."

"The church needed reapirs," Felicity stated blandly.

"St. Mary Redcliffe?" Ben exclaimed with wide eyes. "That's the big church I saw on my way through Bristol with Rollie Newton! Forsythe took you _there_?"

"Yes. I barely remember it. I was dressed all in pink and my head felt very heavy. Two people held me up, and I could barely stay awake."

Ben brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"Remember, Felicity," advised the duke mindfully, "tomorrow afternoon we go to Forsythe Manor with the authorities to make the arrests, and find your friend Lettie. You should get as much sleep as possible so that you will feel ready."

"Yes, your grace."

Ben noted that she sounded resolved, determined. Then the duke said, "I will have the maids prepare room for all of you, Mr. Pratt, Miss Cole, Mr. Davidson, when you are ready to retire for the-"

"Excuse me, sir," Ben interrupted hastily, looking concerned, "I mean no disrespect to your or your household, but I cannot be separated from Felicity. Not even for a night. I will sleep in a chair by her side or on the floor in a blanket, but I will not be separated from her again. I just can't."

There was indeed an awkward pause all around the table, with Arthur looking from Ben to the duke, who sat at the head of the table, Elizabeth sighing tensely and shaking her head, and Felicity giving Ben a startled look. "I'm sorry, sir," Ben added imploringly. "You have to understand that I have been on the edge of madness without my fiance around. The nightmares have been the worst a man can endure, I cannot-"

This time the duke interrupted. "I hear you, Mr. Davidson-Ben, that is. Yes, I do understand the grief of being without the love of your life, even for one night. _You _understand that such behavior between an unmarried couple is greatly frowned upon, do you not?"

"Yes sir, but-"

Eric smiled, amused at how nervous but tenacious this young cavalry captain was. He was thinking of a time when he rode out to the home of his young Evangeline, to climb a rope ladder up to her window so that she could let him in and snuggle with him by the fire in her bedchamber on chilly evenings. Love could make a man crazy. It could make a man do absurd things, like isolate himself from his only child because the child looked too much like the love that was cruelly snatched away all too soon. He inhaled sharply and looked at Felicity, who was looking rather nervous herself.

"Miss Merriman, do you mind having your guardian sit watch over you tonight?"

Immediately Ben looked at her pleadingly, desperately, as if she had it in her power to bestow upon him his heart's greatest wish, which at this moment it was.

Felicity nodded, albeit hesitantly, and the look she gave Ben then was one he couldn't decipher: he was quite sure it wasn't disappointment nor anger, but uncertaintly, perhaps?

"Well there you are, Mr. Davidson! I have a feeling that whether I objected or not, you would break your neck trying to stay with her tonight, and I will not have your death on my hands."

"Thank you sir," Ben told him, releasing once more the breath that he had been holding.

"Now, Mr. Pratt, I would love to hear some more about your adventures in the colonies." And at this, Eric grinned, for as many often did, he found the blond Brit to be immensely entertaining. The lad was quite avid in his retelling of an encounter with a bear...

Ben leaned toward Felicity as she ate in silence. "Don't be angry with me, Lissie. I promise I will remain only at your side in a chair."

But Felicity didn't reply. She simply glared at the table-top. Something was wrong again, Ben could feel it. Not that everything was fine between them now, 'twas just that she had just thrown up yet another stone wall, emotionally, and there were so many walls he had yet to break down already. But Ben Davidson was more determined than ever to break those walls down. After all, he was a man of Lee's Legion; he would not give up so easily. Hell, he'd never give up at all!

Dinner passed quickly, then dessert, then Elizabeth entertained them all by playing "A Soldier And A Sailor" on Lady Evangeline's long-dormant spinnet, and she did such a good job of it that it brought Felicity to tears and gushes of compliments from the duke, who took Felicity aside just before Ben escorted her out of the parlor and said, "Miss Felicity, you and your friends have reminded me just how much I miss having this place resounding with company and the laughter of youngsters."

"But my lord," protested Felicity gently, with a coy smile, "you are not an old man!"

"Mayhaps," Eric chuckled warmly. "But I miss also my son. 'Tis past time for Thomas to come home." He took a deep breath. "I am ready."

"Good for you! I am quite sure that little Thomas misses you more than you know. You have too much life to live and too much love to give to keep yourself hidden away, from your son _and _the rest of the world!"

He took one of her fingerless-gloved hands into both of his (which had the fires of jealousy igniting in Ben once more as her stood by, waiting) and said, "Now Felicity, you are by far _no _old woman. Would you not take your own advice?"

"My situation is different." She was blushing uncontrollably.

"Is it?"

"My lord, I am not myself anymore. Too much has happened for me to just-"

"Shush," he commanded in a soothing voice. "I once thought as you do now. But time has melted my heart and lonliness moved my soul to reach out again. If you allow your experiences with Reginald Forsythe to drag you down, then he still has control over you _without _the benefit of powders." He grinned as he watched her blink rapidly, startled by his blunt advice. "Your young man is brooding over there. Let him escort you upstairs so that he will not come over here and throttle me."

Felicity had to bite her bottom lip to keep from grinning. She bid her good-nights to Elizabeth and Arthur, embracing them both, kissing them both on their cheeks, curstied before the duke, then allowed Ben to take her arm and lead her toward the grand staircase. He was quiet as they went up the stairs, but as soon as they reached the landing, Ben unexpectedly scooped her up in his arms again.

"Ben, I can walk, you know," she told him aggravatedly, although inside she was quite giddy.

"I know that. But these arms of mine have been deprived of you for so long that they do not care."

He was trying to get her to smile again, but she didn't. Her face returned to the same espression she had when Ben told the duke he would be willing just to sit in a chair at her bedside. Grumpy. Disturbed about something. He wished to high heaven he knew what about.

He carried her the very short distance into her room, closed the door with a boot foot, then took her right to the big fancy bed and put her down upon it carefully, in the middle, sitting up so that he could sit himself beside her, turned toward her. His hands rested upon her hips to keep her from getting away.

They were both quiet a minute before Felicity asked in a suspicious tone, "So, did you mean what you said when you told the duke you would sit in a chair?"

"Yes," Ben breathed affirmatively. He could not help but become entranced by the graceful shape of her collarbone and the urge to caress it was almost killing him.

"So I disgust you that much, do I?"

_What? _"Felicity, what do you mean? 'Disgust me'? Whatever do you think I meant-"

"Oh you know perfectly well, Benjamin Davidson!" She tried to slide away from him, toward the other side of the bed, to put space between them again, but Ben would not have it. He steeled his hold on her hips, keeping her put despite her insistent struggles. There were too many walls between them now as it was. He wasn't about to let another one spring up! She stiffened her entire body and tried to lean back away from him. "I disgust you so much that you cannot even sleep in a bed beside me! I'd rather you just leave the room than to insult me further by-"

"Felicity, no! That is not what I meant! Oh Lord no, love, I only meant I was willing to sleep in a chair out of respect for what you've been through! I wanted to convince Lord Covington that I would be on my best behavior, and that for you, I would not want you to think I was just another villain trying to...you know. Get close to you." His brown eyes looked sad and his voice softened considerably.

"The last thing in the world I want is for you to associate me with Forsythe and his ass cousin."

She relaxed a little, straightening herself and eyeing him suspiciously still, but she didn't struggle any more. "That's all it was? You just didn't want me to think you were pressuring me?"

"Aye, I swear it."

" 'Tis said that a woman who is sought after by many men must surely be a wh-"

"Do not say that, Felicity! Oh God how I hate that that horrible word escaped my own mouth!"

She was struggling with her emotions. "So...you would like to sleep beside me in this bed?"

"God, yes!" He hugged her hard again, dropping his forehead onto her shoulder. "You have no idea how badly I want to keep you close to me all night long!"

Slowly, Felicity brough a hand up to lay upon his back. "I miss us lying together like we used to."

"Oh so do I. Lissie! Neither one of us shall miss it ever again!" He lifted his head and smiled sheepishly at her. "Shall we get ready for bed now?"

She nodded, and allowed him to take her hands and pull her off the bed. He removed his coat and waistcoat as Felicity just stood there, not really knowing what to do. 'Twas like getting to know him all over again, yet being so familiar with his movements and presence. At length, she sighed and reached back behind herself to unlace the dress's stays, but Ben was behind her all of a sudden, gently moving her hands aside. "Let me, please?"

"Well, if you don't mind..." She caught his expression in the looking glass of the room's vanity table. He looked eager and so attentive that it was all she could do not to whirl around and fling herself at him in a flurry of fierce kisses. But she refrained, on the principle that she would not give in until she could trust him again. With slow fingers he carefully unlaced the green ribbon-strings of the dress and pushed it off of her shoulders. She swayed a little, for the nearness of his warm body and his breath on her neck was giving her chills of excitement that were awfully hard to deny.

She stepped out of the dress, now only clad in the thin cotton shift Marvel-Ann Babcock had given her, then picked it up to lay it over a trunk near the wall. Ben's brown eyes were all over her, she was aware, so she couldn't look directly at him for fear that she would be too drawn in to resist him, whatever he was thinking. What _was _he thinking, anyway? Felicity merely sighed as she reached up to her pinned up hair to take the pins out.

"I'll do that, too, if you dn't mind," Ben said quickly, stepping forward eagerly.

"Ben, really, I can do it myself just fine." She didn't sound _too _irritated, but somewhat amused.

"I know, I just...missed that red head of yours terribly, the smell of your hair." He smiled as she turned around at the vanity table, her back to him so that he could do as he wanted. Gentle fingers touched the back of her neck, carefully pulled the slender pins from the mass of red tresses rolled into a bun. She reached up and pulled the mobcap off, laid it on the vanity top as Ben pulled her hair down, tangled his fingers in it, then buried his face in its waves at ther neck. He inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of her, the silky texture of her hair.

Then his arms slid around her from behind, pulling her back against him, holding her tight and intensely. She did seem to melt against him, her body losing most of its rigidity and tension. His soft lips found the hyper-sensitive side of her neck and moved down its graceful curve. "Lissie," he murmured absently before kissing the bend of her neck so firmly. There was a great deal of longing and emotion in his huskied voice that Felicity found entrancing. So much so that when Ben caught her expression in the looking glass he saw her eyelids flutter helplessly shut and one of her hands rose to place itself on one of his arms.

Lord, but he had never been so aroused as he was now.

His splayed hands moved over her upper and lower stomach, silently reveling in the heat of her thin body emitting from the lightweight shift she wore. Her head rolled back slowly upon his muscled shoulder as his soothing, wandering hands moved up and down her sides, over her hips (_she's too thin! _he thought worriedly) up and down her arms. It was like getting to know her form all over again, and even then he had not known her intimately.

But this was a good place to start, he decided amorously.

One arm slipped back around her, holding her firmly against him, while his other hand pushed the edge of her shift down a little, revealing the round top of a very white shoulder, that he kissed hard and hungrily, making her gasp softly.

"Ben..."

The sound of his name escaping her lips prompted him to turn her about and bring his ever-eager mouth down on hers for a kiss so deep and so intense that were it not for his strong arms around her she would've gone right to the floor. It was a passionate kiss, yet loving and desperate. Somehow she got her hands up to his face, and that gesture alone moved him to scoop her up once more and take the two steps over to the bed and lay her down in the middle of it, where he moved over her, maintaining the mouth-to-mouth contact. He proped up on his forearms on either side of her magnificent red-head so that he could kiss her even harder, hoping that she could no longer doubt his love of and desire for her. She could only cling to him, spellbound, and let him work her willing mouth with his own.

Hands will wander when one was in the grips of lust, and Ben moved one of his down the right side of her body again following the curve of her hip, finding her small but very enticing backside, fingers clenching,an act which made her utter a whimper of longing and bring her hips up to press against his. His tongue worked feverishly to dominate her sweet mouth with deep penetrating strokes from every angle. Her hands fisted in his hair, yanked the black ribbon holding his hair back and flinging it away. Her back arched of its own accord, pressing, revealing its own need to be touched and pleasured.

"Lissie," he murmered against her cheek, his voice thick with desire, "I can't...can't stop. I want you so much, I want you to be mine, _my _wife, mine alone...We were always meant to be together, we were made for each other, you know that as surely as I do!"

"Ben, we can't do this," Felicity panted, clasping his face, astonished at her own words, for she too had been very eager for more of his affections. But reality lingered heavily, and the reality was that she was not ready to forgive him no matter how good his touching and kissing made her feel, the sensations he invoked driving her mad with want, and a certain something else just came to mind that he had to know right away, before things got any more carried away.


	26. Chapter 26: Bed Talk

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE: Pt3, Ch26: Bed Talk

"Ben, stop. We shouldn't-_Mmmm_," Felicity ended up moaning as Ben kissed her again, fully, her body arching instinctively up against his as his ever-wandering hand moved down her hip and thigh, down to her knee, where her shift hem was bunched up. Quite smoothly, that hand of his slipped under the fabric and over her knee, which she brought up without even realizing it, a motion that helped push her shift further on up her thigh, where he was slowly caressing. If they didn't stop now, they wouldn't be able to stop at all!

"I want you," he murmured hypnotically against her lips, his brown eyes lazy with desire. "Let me show you how much I love you, Lissie. Let me take you right here and now. I want so very much to-"

"Ben, _no_," she told him, trying to sound firm despite the quiver in her voice betraying her own intentions. "We can't-_I _can't."

And then he drew back, mouth open, eyes staring. "Oh my God. I'm pushing you, aren't I? Good Christ, I'm no better than _they _are! Damn!" He sat up to the side quickly, swearing under his breath and rubbing his hands over his face as if he'd just come to some sort of horrible conclusion. In his mind he had. "Dear Lord, Lissie, I'm so sorry.."

Felicity sat up, too, reaching for him, grabbing his shoulders as he was trying to move away from her. "Ben, listen to me!"

"I've made things worse, haven't I?" he went on self-deprecatingly. "I swore I was not going to push you! I told myself not to push you! I'm no better than Forsythe _or _his cousin!"

"Will you hush and listen to me? I do _not _consider you to be anything like the Forsythes!"

He looked at her with doubtful eyes. "I'm no different than they are, Felicity. If you knew the kinds of things I was thinking just now, you'd hate me even more than you already do. You'd never want to see me again."

"I don't hate you, Ben," Felicity sighed tolerantly, surprising him _and _herself with her own words. No, she truly didnt hate him, not now that he was here. She loved him too much to hate him now. But even forgiven him as she had, there remained the forgetting and the re-building of trust to overcome, if it was to happen at all. But yet she was momentarily distracted by what he had just said. "First of all, I would like to know what it was you were thinking."

"No, Like I said, you'd-"

"Yes, yes, I _know _what you said. But you don't seem to know me at all, Benjamin Davidson! I wonder now if you ever did! You believed that I thought so little of our love that I would go bed my best friend's fiance, and now you think that I will demonize you for what you were thinking just now. How are we supposed to get past all of this hate and misery if we cannot even communicate?"

Ben looked at her sorrowfully. After a moment of tense silence, he said, "I don't want to lose you."

"You are _not _going to lose me, I'm right here! Now tell me what you were thinking, or _I'll _be the one to sleep in a chair tonight!"

He sighed relentingly, but he did not look happy. "You really want to know? Fine. But I warned you, just remember. I was thinking that you were _mine_, that you belonged to _me_, that you are _my _possession, to love and touch for always. I was thinking that you were _always _meant to be mine, and that I wish _I _could take you away to someplace private, somewhere no one could ever find us, so that I could declare us married before God, and then I could make love to you for days and days on end. Just have you all to myself for as long as I wanted, without anyone interfering or interrupting. I was thinking that if I didn't have right then and there that I was going to die." He studied her face for reactions. "So _now _what do you think? Why are you smiling?"

"Because nothing that you've said surprises me." Indeed, Felicity _was _smiling, a flicker of amusement in her still-dulled green eyes.

"And so that makes me no different than those Forsythe bastards. I think the same things they do. I am just like them."

"And I say you are not. You _are _a man, so you do think the thoughts of men. But you are different from the Forsythes in that I love _you _and I despise _them _with an unholy passion."

"You still love me, Lissie?" It was almost sad the way he asked it.

"Yes, Ben." Her eyes and voice softened considerably, emotion rising in her throat. "Even when I hated you for awhile I still loved you. I would not have been so badly hurt if I didn't. I have forgiven you, but the pain you caused still lingers. It still hurts, Ben. Very much. If you had hauled out your cavalry pistol and shot me there behind Father's store it would not have hurt nearly as much."

Tears filled his eyes. He swallowed hard and said in a tremorous voice, "I damn that day, Felicity. I damn myself. After that morning I made a promise to God that if He would just help me get you back, I would not object to any puishment He saw fit to smite me with."

"That is a little extreme, don't you think?" she sniffed, adding a tired smile.

"No, I do not." He picked up her nearest hand and pulled the fingerless glove off, reached for the other one and did the same. "When you have wronged the very person you love more than anything else in the world, then should you not be punished for it?' He held both her hands in his. "I do not deserve you, Lissie. But I cannot live without you. I will not."

She studied his face, the pain etched into it, and noticed for the first time how illl he seemd to look, too. Shadowy under the eyes, facial hair stubble, exhaustion and paleness. She came to the conclusion that he had made a victim of himself as well. Idly, she reached up to stroke his brown hair away from his face. "I need time, Ben."

"I know."

"I need to think about how to cope with all that has happened to me. This situation could have been a whole lot worse than it is, you know. But since it is not, I think I can find a way to heal. Maybe. I just need to know that what happened between us will never happen again. I need to trust you. Someone I love dearly once told me that nothing is for certain when trust is gone."

"I hate the jackass that said that," he muttered darkly.

"Well, I don't. He had a very excellent point." Then she half-smiled again. "So... all you were thinking about as we were about to make love was all of that possessive emotion."

"Aye."

"I have no problem with that as long as it is you."

"May I ask you something, Lissie?"

"Yes."

He looked at her worriedly. "Do you have feelings for the duke?"

_Ah ha! He noticed my flirtations! _She smile a little more. "Actually...no." She watched relief flood Ben's face, and a touch of color come back to his cheeks. "He is a friend who came along when I really needed a friend. I owe him my life. But I do not think of him as anything more than a friend."

"Good. I was...afraid."

"Now may I ask _you _something?"

Ben straightened attentively, giving her hands a warm squeeze. "Ask it!"

"Ben, what manner of man goes to so much trouble just for a woman he is not related to? I mean, men have needs. I am not blind to society's awareness that if a man cannot have his needs met one way, he will meet them another. Why, Ben? Are you not tempted to satisfy your needs with another woman, even if only temporarily?"

He sighed softly. "First of all, pretty Lissie, a man in love will go to the farthest extreme to find his love, no matter what it takes, or where it takes him. A mad man went to a tremedous amount of trouble to get you here. I am mad, too, but because I love you so much. There is nothing that I wouldn't do to get you back, and I shall tell you that as many times as it takes for you to see it. As for my needs, I only need _you_! Sure I feel tempted sometimes, Lissie, I'm only human. But the thought of being intimate with some woman who is not you is just unbearable. Your father and I talked about marriage and intimacy one afternoon- the very afternoon I proposed to you. We talked about things that fathers and sons only talk about, and the advice he gave me is something I shall never forget. Something I hope to pass on to my son someday."

"Like what?" Felicity wanted to know, fascinated, drawing her knees up to her chest as she got comfortable beside him. Ben draped an arm around her knees and hugged them close.

"That marriage and intimacy are two very important things to not be taken lightly. I know, a lot of men _do _take such matters lightly, and they usually end up regretting it. I never did aim to be one of those men, Felicity. I value our love and our friendship far too much to risk losing either. Now I know what you're thinking: that if I truly _did _take both of them seriously, then why did I not believe you that wretched morning when you needed me to? Because I could only think of myself, that is why. A mistake I shall pay for for the rest of my life, I assure you." His voice was soft and serious. "Anyway, your father told me that women were much stronger, smarter, and intuitive than men give them credit for, and I knew him to be correct just from what I've seen of you and your mother.

"He said a man cannot spill his seed so carelessly without dire consequences, and I believed him. I knew men in my own regiment that sought out women to bed as if it were sport. As if bedding a woman of loose morals was a form of recreation, and in so doing they violated their own marriage vows before God. I knew men who brought along their wives _and _mistresses, and the only ones who thought it disgraceful were other women. I'm not like that, Felicity. I mean to honor our marriage vows for all time. I want to bed only you. A man who values his soul _and _his wife will not throw them to the wind just for carnal satisfaction."

Felicity was mesmerized. Ben and her father had spoken of things like that? It moved her, to say the least. She stroked his hair thoughtfully. "I believe you, Ben. But as far as I am concerned, I want to know what you expect of _me_. Whether people want to admit to it or not, we all have expectations of one another. Even if we do not mean to _put _expectations on each other, we do so without thinking. Tell me, Ben, what you want of _me_?"

He replied without having to stop and think. "I want you to let me love you. I want you to marry me. I want you to see that I love you and that I am so sorry for the pain I've caused you-that I caused _us_. I want you to spend eternity with me."

She inhaled deeply and looked at him as though she was indeed trying to believe him. "I want those things too, Ben, I really do. It is just that as of right now I don't have much faith in that happening."

"You need time. I understand that." His face showed understanding, but he had been unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "But please, I must know...what are your expectations of _me_?"

"I want to believe that you already know what I expect of you. To love me. To believe in me and be there when I need you. Now, I have learned that I do not need a man in my life to be happy-" Ben's mouth opened to express surprise and protest, but Felicity brought her fingers to his lips. "-but it _would _be nice to share my life with someone special. I am not saying that I do not want to be a wife and eventually a mother, so do not misunderstand me upon that. What I _am _saying is that I could be perfectly fine with never marrying at all." She sighed heavily, and her feelings poured out in words: "Ben, if you want a gentlewoman who speaks only of nice things, puts everyone else first and foremost and dedicates her life to cooking, sewing and giving birth, then I am not what you want. I have had the time to think long and hard about what I want from myself, my _expectations _of myself, and I have decided that no matter how difficult this world is for a woman, I will not bend to any man's will. Never. I want- nay, I _expect _to be something more than just a wife and mother. Can you understand?' Her voice was not harsh or demanding, but soft as his was and calm.

Ben was staring at the bedsheets as she had spoken, and nodded silently. He gave her a respectful look. "I _do _know you, Lissie. I have always loved your independent spirit. Always. Granted, when I first came to live with your family I had never met anyone, especially a girl so young, with such spirit and willfulness. I didn't know whether to be impressed or frightened! I ended up being impressed. You won me Felicity, even before I was aware of it. I know you well. I would not love you half as much if you were a proper gentlewoman."

"Those are kind words, Ben," she told him agreeably. "But do you really mean them? Are you going to look at me one day and decide that you made the wrong decision? Just because we loved each other as children doesnt mean we would make a good pairing as adults."

He turned to her, fear clouding his beautiful brown eyes, and slipped his arms about her waist. "Felicity Merriman, I loved you as a child, and I love you so much now that I would die for you! Say what you will, tell me you wish for your life to be more than just wife and mother, but do not ever say that we were not meant to be! My heart can't take it. If I cannot love you and be your husband, then there is no life for me to live! I cannot bear, nor _will _I bear life without you or-"

She grinned then, and silenced him with her fingers again. "Hush, Ben Davidson. I understand you, all right? I love you, too, so very much. So please, if you love me like you say you do, then let me decide what course my future is going to take."

He nodded quickly. "Tell me I will be a part of your future, Lissie, please."

She hated to hear him beg so, even though she had _wanted _him to be afraid he had lost her. His fear and pleading was getting to be too pitiful. Yet she couldn't say yes to him still. _Time, _she reminded herself affirmatively, _Take time. He hurt you badly. You must be sure he will not do that again. _She nodded, too. "I want you to be, Ben. But there has to be trust. Show me you mean what you say, and the future just might be as we had planned."

He seemed to be relieved with that. He licked his lips, gazing temptingly at hers and said, "Do you really think that I would settle for someone who didn't make my heart race by just _thinking _about her? That I would really take to wife someone who's idea of excitement is sewing with new thread? We're _different_, Lissie, we do not come from the same mold as everyone else! Why on earth would you and I, of all people, choose to remain the same in a world that is changing? That is not our way."

She took his handsome face into her hands, tears filling her eyes even as she gave him a genuine, loving smile. "Blast it all, Ben, you say the most perfect things sometimes! Just when I have set my mind at being mad at you, you go and say something so wonderful like that and nearly undo every bit of resistance I have!"

"And that is why we are so good together, my beauty. I made a horrible mistake, Lissie, and I am suffering for it. I am learning from it. If God can forgive me, can you not as well?"

"And I have told you that I _have _forgiven you," she reminded him patiently. "That was the easy part. 'Tis getting past the hurt. Maybe I can. Just let me try."

Ben nodded, and lowered his head onto her shoulder. Felicity was just taking comfort in the feeling of his warm breath at her neck when he said, "You feel like heaven."

"Still trying to seduce me, Ben?" she grinned slightly.

"Aye. Can't help it. I am a man and you are the only object of my desires. The _only _one."

"Do you ever feel that you cannot wait for us to be married? I mean, should your need for a woman become so great that you feel you absolutely _must _satisfy that need at once, would you go to a woman who meant nothing to you?"

"Absolutely not. I told you, Felicity, about the talk your father and I had. Good God, you are worth waiting forever for, girl! 'Tis you or a life of celibacy, like the monks have."

Felicity snorted her doubt, albeit with amusement. "Oh really, Ben. _No _man could withstand a life of celibacy. A woman, aye, but a man? That is just absurd."

He lifted his head and gazed at her through lazy, passionate eyes. "Oh is it, pretty Lissie? I would not swear to that. A man _can _be so in love that the thought of bedding another woman is just not acceptible. I _am _such a man."

"Ah yes, aren't you," Felicity oozed sensuously, her mood turning teasing. As she laid back against the lush periwinkle pillows she pulled Ben down with her (not that he was offering any resistance), and he snuggled into the bend of her neck, his arms moving about her wonderfully tight, his sigh that of a man indeed aroused but content to merely lay with his heart's desire hugged close to his body. Felicity, too, revelled in the physical closeness, how well the curve of her body fit into the curve of his.

"Are you afraid of going back to Forsythe Manor, Lissie?" Ben asked softly, with worry that he could not hide.

"No," she whispered back, sounding more tired than anything else. "_And _yes. I swore to myself that I would never be taken back to that place as long as I drew breath. But now I am. But I can cope with it because I have friends to go with me. And the hope of finding Lettie makes any fear I feel seem mundane, because she has endured there longer than I have and been put through far worse than I."

"I cannot wait to meet this Lettie. She will be as special to me as she is to you."

Felicity was quiet, thinking his words to be noble and heartfelt, but wondering if he would still think so after Lettie was found. After all, she was determined to take the dark girl home with her no matter what anyone had to say about it. And if Lettie could not go, Felicity would not go. She decided to change the subject back to what she originally wanted to tell him. "Look Ben, about just moments ago, I wanted us to stop because I didn't want to be pregnant on a sea voyage. I'd be sick every minute."

"Oh." He sounded relieved. "I had not thought of that." He raised up on an elbow and stroked hair back away from her face. "i just want you so much, Lissie."

"I know."

"Do you believe me, then?"

"About wanting me, yes. 'Tis the trusting part I am not sure about." She turned her head to look up at him honestly. "It frightens me how much I still love you and want to be intimate with you. I was determined to hate you. Just don't...rush me, Ben."

"I know, I know, I promise, I won't." His face was back into her neck. "This is not the exact place I had envisioned making love to you for the first time in. We should be home in Williamsburg, in the house we will share as man and wife...in the bed we should be sleeping together in now. 'Tis my own damn fault that we are not where we should be tonight."

"There is enough blame to go around, Ben." Then she smiled a little. "Where _did _you imagine taking my innocence for the first time, anyway?"

"Oh, goodness!" Ben grinned, feeling the joy jump to life in his heart again. "Everywhere! That is, everywhere but Bristol. England. Oh let me see...on Yorktown's beaches, the woods in the rain, my loft in your barn, your bedchamber, your dining table, the storage room at the store..."

"The storage room?" Felicity laughed smartly, nearly sounding like her old self. "That is very risky!"

His lips murmured against her sensitive flesh. "Aye. That's the kind of fire you make in me." He kissed her a hard one there upon the pulse in her neck, his voice almost dreamy. "I have imagined us one hundred different ways in one hundred different places, but none of them seemed to be as appealing as making love in our own bed."

Felicity sighed, half-satisfied by the raw honesty in his answer, half-careful in thinking how much he would mean it when the time for marriage came, if at all. "I hope you mean that."

"I do. You will see."

She said nothing after that, already allowing tired sleep wash over her. The warm solidity of his body comforted her as much as the glow of the bedchamber's fire. She had a new nagging feeling that tomorrow was not going ot turn out as planned. Her heart was telling her that Lettie would not be there. After all, the duke's lawyer had confirmed that Forsythe Manor was still missing a Negro woman slave- Felicity actually _hoped _Lettie would not be there. If she wasn't, then that meant Lettie had escaped and was alive somewhere else.

But how could she be found then?

Ben snuggled against her as if he was scared to death she was going to slip away from him. Sleep was quick to come to him, too. Their reunion was still an overwhelming, heart-wrenching one, but the longer they were in each other's presence, the less shocking the sight of each other was becoming. The memory of that terrible day behind her father's store was not as clear as it was even a month ago. The fact that neither Tristan nor Reginald had come after her made her uneasy. Odd that she felt more nervous of them _not _having shown up than if they _had_. But there would be the authorities with her tomorrow. No Forsythe would be able to harm her with as much protection as she would have.

But yet she was still uncertain.


	27. Chapter 27: Arresting Conversations

Felicity awoke to the sensation of her hair being touched, as if someone was stroking through it with a great deal of affection. "Ben?" she mumbled sleepily, not wanting to open her eyes just yet.

"No," came the reply. "It is I, little hellion- I've come for my revenge."

A horrified cry erupted from her throat as her eyes did indeed snap open wide, staring up in wide, mindless fright at a blurred face that was chillingly familiar, but one side of it was gapped and pitted with burn scars. "NOOOO!"

"Felicity!" another familiar voice called, this one in panic, "wake up! You are having a nightmare! Please, Lissie, wake up!'

She gasped loudly, shrilly, her hands flying up to her neck in instinctive protection as she sat right up, knocking Ben's encircling arm aside. Immediately he was holding her again, trying to stop her uncontrollable shaking by holding her to him firmly. "It's all right! You're safe! I swear to God I will not let anyone hurt you."

Within the crushing confines of his well-muscled arms, Felicity came to her senses and slowed her breathing. Ben stroked her hair now, gently, with movements meant to soothe and comfort as she slowly got ahold of herself. "Breathe deep," Ben told her softly. "I am here with you, Lissie. What was it that you were having a nightmare about?"

"Not what," she panted restlessly, "_who_."

"Forsythe?"

"Not Reg-Reginald. His cousin." She gulped miserably and leaned against Ben, the tension and fright slowly leaving her body. "That wretched Tristan."

His gentle fingers stroked her cheek. "I hope I meet him so that I can do to him what the fire didn't get to," Ben said darkly, the rage building up inside him at the thought of what that whoreson tried to do to Felicity. He wanted her avenged, with himself doing the avenging. He was imagining doling out all sorts of vile punishments, as learned in the Legion.

"Yes, well, so do I," Felicity muttered, the contempt in her voice matching that on Ben's face. She looked up at him groggily. "It is not yet morning, is it?"

"No. The sky is still black. Which means I have a little while longer to keep you with _me_." He sounded immensely relieved about that. "Lie back, Lissie. Let me help you back to sleep for a while."

She nodded, too tired to argue, even with herself. She was actually grateful that Ben was here, for as much as she had become accustomed to waking from nightmares in a bed all alone, she missed his company so very much. Now here he was, right beside her in a big bed in a duke's mansion in England. Could stranger things even happen? 'Twas hard to be mad at him at this late hour, when she was shook up over Tristan's looming effect in her dreams. Ben held her close and kissed her cheek, then she clearly surprised him by turning about within his strong embrace so that she could curl up against him. "Lissie," he sighed, unmistakable love in his voice. She merely laid her head upon his chest and listened to his heart banging with the excitement she stirred in him, and she smiled sleepily.  
But she was still mad at him. And she had never been so glad to have him near in her life. Amazing how human emotion could yank a person two different ways at once.

As if he could read her thoughts, he whispered, "I love you, Lissie, You are not enduring this alone. I will be right by your side, all of the way, love."

"Thank you, Ben," she told him drowzily, before sleep overcame her once more.

* * *

She was able to sleep for the rest of the night without further incident, feeling herself to be safe and wrapped within Ben's protective arms. She didn't mind that he held her like he could keep forces both material and supernatural from tearing her from him. So he felt guilty. _That _was obvious. She would be even angrier at him if he did _not _feel guilty, that was for certain, so maybe his showing and wallowing in torturous guilt was a good thing. It showed he was sorry, but the pain of it still hurt them both. But she did love him immensely. His breath on her temple, the tightness of his embrace even whilst sleeping, the sounds of his relieved and emotional sighs all silently spoke of love and the wish for atonement. A longing for the forgivness only she could give, when she was ready and not before.

She dreamed of being warm and loved, of seeing her family again. For reasons of sanity she chose not to think too much of reuniting with her loved ones. Felicity decided she could fall completely apart once she was back within the arms of her family. For now she had Ben and elizabeth, and yes, Arthur Pratt to find healing with.

But especially Ben.

She awoke to find the room lightened slate grey with the approaching dawn. Immediately she sensed Ben was no longer beside her, so she raised her head to see where he was, his name ready to burst from her lips in less than a second should she not find him in the room...but she did, and when she did, an astonishing sight met her sleepy eyes as she raised her head. Ben was still in the room, all right, but he was standing at the window, braced against the window pane on one muscular forearm.

And he was completely naked.

Felicity had to stifle her shocked gasp by yanking her covers up to the bridge of her nose, but she did _not _look away. She didn't want to. Apparently, he was not aware of her being awake, much less staring at his rear-view. She was doing so with great ardor and carnal fascination, looking him up and down as if he were a thing of scandalous wonder. She had seen him naked before, briefly, when she had been tricked into bringing him a cup of scalding hot chocolate while he was still in his bathing tub, but she'd had only seconds to asses what she saw. Staring at him standing there, mostly his backside turned to her was giving her a longer opportunity to digest his unclothed form.

She wholeheartedly approved.

Felicity felt her face burning with a mix of shyness and desire. Although his shoulders were broad and muscular, his long arms so finely toned and strong, he still retained some of his teenaged slenderness. Legion-life had made him fit and hard, but there were still traces of his adolescence that seemed to not want to change. That was fine with Felicity. She let her easing gaze follow the curve of his lower back to his buttocks, and she blushed inwardly at the fact that the breeches he wore these days were so tight on that muscular rump that they hardly ever had a wrinkle in them. His thigh muscles were so impressive to her eyes that she felt herself getting hot all over. And tingly! There were tingles bursting like mad all over her body, in her nether regions, which was the most private of private places on any human being, but it didn't alarm her. She had a full-on desire for Ben Davidson, just as he had for her.

Blast and damn her own body for the risk of getting pregnant.

And that brought something else to mind. She was _supposed _to want children, it was expected of her. It was _supposed _to be a natural thing for her to want children, despite risk and pain. And she did-but not the way society expected young women to. She wanted them _gradually_. She wanted to have _time _to enjoy Ben and his magnificent form without becoming heavy with child so soon. She imagined how smooth that rump of his would feel under her hands, the hardness of those muscles. How he would feel, in his entirety, taking her virginity in that mighty, overpowering way that woman must succomb to in order to become one with her man.

She was very much looking forward to that.

_So, _thought she self_-_criticizingly_, you _are _going to marry him. He is getting to you, as you had been afraid of. Just because he is standing there, unaware of you watching him, with you growing lusty over his unclothed body. Of course he is beautiful! Of course you want nothing more than to open your self for him and scream at him to take you right here, right now! You still can't trust him._

_Can you?_

She had to remember to inhale. When she did, Ben heard her, and turned his head to look at her instead of turning his entire body. "Awake, pretty Lissie?" he asked with a sly smile.

"Mmm-hmm. And so are you. What _are _you doing over there?" She at least pushed the covers back off her nose.

"I couldn't sleep any longer, so I decided to get up and put on a change of clothes." That explained his nudity. "You don't mind do you?" He sounded playful, almost mischevious.

"Nay, I do not. But what caught your attention so that you had to stop dressing?" Felicity did not sound accusing or angry, merely curious.

"I guess it just finally hit me that I- _we_- are really in England. I had thought about it now and then as I was looking for you, but it just now seemed to really affect me."

"We could have never imagined," was all she said, softly.

"I am so sorry, Lissie."

She made a snorting sound. "Will you please stop apologizing? I think I believe you, already. I think. 'Tis hard to think at all with you standig there like that."

He grinned widely. "So you noticed."

"How could I not?"

"Oh, you'll get used to it. Once we are married, we will become used to seeing each other in a state of undress on a regular basis."

She snuggled down into the warm covers. "You sound quite sure of yourself."

"I am indeed."

A heartbeat passed. "Are you coming back to bed?"

"If you'll have me."

"Well, come on, then." Felicity quickly yanked the covers up over her eyes, suddenly shy. "But do put _some _breeches back on, first!"

"That is no fun," Ben protested, but Felicity could hear the sounds of weight shifting from foot to foot as he was putting breeches back on. He sounded humored.

"Neither is being pregnant on a sea voyage."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Stop that!"

"But I _am _sorry, Lissie. And I made a promise to you that I would not push you for intimacy before we were married. I seem to be breaking _that _promise to you as well. Your family would hate me even more if I brought you home with a child in your arms...no matter how proud _I _would be."

She was both touched _and _irritated by that last statement, and flipped the covers back down from her face, breeches on him or not. "Are you saying that you would not _mind _being disgraced by a pregnancy out of wedlock? Not that my reputation will ever be the same in Williamsburg, but _you _at least would still have some dignity and respect in town! People will think I was raped and was bringing home a child of violence, and you would be believed to be willing to take responsibility!"

"Felicity, I do not _care _what people think." His handsome face was serious as he sat down on the bed beside her, facing her as she sat up. "I love you. 'Tis no one's business but yours and mine, with the exception of your family. Only those who are dear to us. And besides..." One of his warm hands laid against her cool face with tremendous affection. "There are not as many people left in Williamsburg to care about _anyone's _business but their own."

Felicity looked stunned. "Surely you do not mean that?"

"Aye. When Elizabeth, Arthur and I left Williamsburg to board the ship at Yorktown, the french were already making preparations to leave Virginia. When they are gone, Williamsburg will be quite empty compared to the way it was when the armies came. People are losing businesses and leaving as well. I hate saying it, but our beloved town will never be the same as it was just months ago."

Felicity nodded absently, trying to imagine what Williamsburg would be like without the bustle of busy soldiers. Without the presence of important people. Vaguely she wondered if Nan had heard anything of Lucien. Ben interrupted her thoughts when he said, "But more importantly is the fact that _nothing _is the same without you, Lissie. Let the times change everything around us just as long as I have you for always." He kissed her lips ever so gently. "All that matters is those we love."

She sighed. "Look, you are up and I am up, somewhat. Let us just go downstairs and see what Maggie is making us all to eat."

Ben noted the familiarity with which she spoke of the motherly woman who seemed to be everyone's caretaker around here. "You really do like it here, don't you?"

She shrugged lightly. "What is not to like? Beautiful mansion, beautiful garden, a mighty barn full of the most beautiful horses you've ever seen in your life- speaking of which, how is my Penny, Ben? You have said nothing of her."

"It is obvious that she misses you. Patriot too. Horses are intelligent creatures, but those two are the smartest I have ever known. You are not around, so they are in a state of melancholy, like the rest of us. I truly believe that even though they cannot fully understand the situation, they know you were taken from us. I hope they can forgive me."

Felicity smiled wryly.

Something was nagging at Ben, though. "Will it be hard for you to leave here?"

"No. As much as I love the friends I have made, I want to go home so very much! Why wouldn't I?"

Her green eyes were expressing worry for whatever it was he was thinking, so he immediately tried to explain. "I just...I mean, I know that so much has happened...that you have been changed by all of this that I am so afraid of you not wanting anything to be like it was before I...hurt us." He was extremely uncomfortable saying all that, mostly because he knew he was to blame for much of it. He was not about to forgive himself.

"Of course things will not be the same, Ben," she tried to explain."I would hope they would be better."

He brightened at that, getting his arms about her waist and pulling her to him tighly. Felicity was afraid that he was going to ask her if she forgave him yet, because she wasn't prepared to answer, but he said nothing then, just looked relieved and sighed like he found peace in her words. "I will do whatever you have a mind to do, pretty Lissie."

"Good. Let me take you out to the barn and show you his grace's horses."

"He will not mind, will he?"

"Of course not! I have been tending to them, anyway. They gave me...distraction." She eased away from him to get up.

"Wait for me!" He scrambled after her eagerly, willing to lace her up her stays if she would let him. Anything to keep her in physical contact. He acted as if he was still afraid that she would dissolve right before his eyes if he didn't maintain some sort of contact with her.

Felicity actually found it amusing.

* * *

"I still do not see why Felicity has to go back to Forsythe Manor," Ben argued for her sake at the duke's informal dining room table over breakfast later that morning. "Has she not suffered enough already?"

"I know you ae worried for Felicity's well being," Lord Covington told him patiently, "but she will be well protected. She is the only one of us who knows that place well enough to know where to look for her friend."

And before anyone else could say it, Ben had laready turned to Felicity, who's hand he held under the table cloth. "I will be with you every step of the way, Lissie. We will look for Lettie together."

Felicity smiled back at him slightly.

"But I stll would rather force Forsythe to _take _us to Lettie," Ben continued. "To show us where he has her. That way Felicity needn't go searching."

" 'Tis my understanding that the Forsythes are extremely hard to deal with. I am not dismissing your concerns, Ben, but any of them could easily insist that she is dead or no longer on the premises, which is what I am assuming they will do, and make try to make things harder for us out of spite."

"Lettie may _really _be dead, for all I know," Felicity said glumly. "Or simply gone. Knowing Forsythe as I do, he will make everything difficult."

"But you will have _us _there, too, Lissie," said Elizabeth determinedly across the table from her. "Ben, Arthur and I have some revenge to administer as well!"

"I know," Felicity agreed softly.

"I have never been so angry at myself in my life!" Elizabeth told them all. "I allowed Reginald Forsythe to make me a victim, let him play upon my worst fears, and for that I can never forgive myself, just as Ben feels of _him_self, too. I was weak and thoughtless. Never again will I be so _foolish_!"

As Arthur put a consoling hand upon his beloved's, Felicity felt a pang of pity for her dear freind's self-loathing, thinking of how Elizabeth made her reveal her madness-inflicted wounds to her in the duke's gardens. Elizabeth had lapsed into wretched bawling, hauling Felicity into a hug so tight that it surprisingly rivaled Ben's own ferocious hold. Felicity had thought someone would hear poor Elizabeth's wailing and come running. Both Ben and Elizabeth were suffering for their thoughtlessness all the time. The pain they had caused was etched into their faces with undeniable grief. felicity stared at the table and wondered just how much time it was going to take for _everyone's _wounds to heal. Perhaps it would start with bringing the Forsythes to justice.

Lazlo came striding into the sunlit dining room with a serious-looking face and leaned over to speak quietly into the duke's ear. They spoke so low that Felicity could not make out what was being said, even sitting near the head of the table as she was. The duke nodded curtly and Laz exited just as swiftly as he had entered. Lord Eric dabbed his mouth with the corner of a yellow cloth napkin and said directly to Felicity, "My dear Miss Merriman, it is time."

Felicity inhaled deeply.

* * *

A constable and a sherrif had arrived, looking stern and ready to do business. Everyone assembled in the grand foyer, with Ben mumbling "Still do not see why Felicity has to go, too. She'd be safer here." Felicity overheard and smiled inwardly, trying hard not to get emotional. Lord Eric spoke to the constable and the sherrif while Felicity turned to Elizabeth and Arthur and said, "Elizabeth, Arthur, I wish you would not go. I haven't a clue as to how this is going to happen, and I do not want anymore to happen to either one of you."

Elizabeth, however, was not to be dissuaded. She held up a hand to rebuke any further warnings. "We will not abandon you, Lissie. We have a stake in this, too. And if need be, I will help you find Lettie."

"That's what _I _am going to do," scowled Ben persistently. "Really Elizabeth, it would be better if you both stayed here. This matter will be settled soon enough. Too many people going along will only result in getting in the way of business."

Elizabeth turned her angry glare upon him, hands on hips. "Don't you dare try to tell me what to do, Benjamin Davidson! I will decide what is best for me to do, thank you very much! If I say Arthur and I will go, then we _will _go!"

"Now, dearest, let us not be too hasty," interjected Arthur carefully, as if he were afraid of stoking his fiance's fire any further. "We _will _only be in the way. If there is struggling and shooting to be done, then i would just as soon us not be there to risk getting caught up in all of it."

"See?" Ben pointed out irately. "Arthur makes good sense."

"Arthur, we are going," Elizabeth snapped firmly. "If anything violent starts to happen, I promise you can hide behind me." She looked at Felicity decidedly. "I am not afraid. I want to be there to bear witness!"

Lord Eric approached them with a slight smile on his face. "I admire your tenacity, Miss Cole. As it turns out, your and your fiance's presence there could help. You both are victims in this foul design of Forsythe's as well, having been made so by his actions in the colonies. Though this is highly unusual to have such a party assist in an arrest, I wager that with these Forsythes nothing is of the ordinary. I'll have you know that a very willing Ezekiel Gooch is sworn to testify to everything on the promise that he will not be executed. There is no way Reginald can weasel his way out."

"That is for certain," muttered Felicity tightly.

"And I must remind you, Felicity, that when he is brought to trial, you and your friends will very likely be called upon as witnesses before a judge. This will detain you longer, I'm afraid. Are you willing to wait to leave England a little longer to see justice done?"

"Yes," she said firmly without thinking. "I will do whatever is necessary to see to it that neither Reginald or his cousin can come after me and my loved ones ever again!" She sounded so determined that Ben was moved to put his arms about her waist as he stood there beside her.

"That is good to know, my dear." Eric gestured to the two men waiting near the entryway. "That man on the left is Bel Hastings' constable, . The man on the right is Sherrif Dribble of Bristol. On my word they are here to see that Reginald Forsythe is brought to justice. And if you still wish it, bring charges against Tristan Forsythe as well. They have a warrant for each of them."

"I wish it," said Felicity seethingly.

"Very well. LIke I said, I can help. My rank entitles me to more than the average Lord!" He grinned mischeviously. "No one wishes to make a duke unhappy, now do they?"

Felicity half-smiled. "I shall fetch my cloak."

"I will come with you," said Ben, to no one's surprise. He took her upstairs, as one of the duke's carriages was getting hitched up. The lawmen were to ride their horses. But even though Felicity was being assured and reassured left and right that she would be safe, that her friends would be safe, and that the Forsythes would finally atone for what they had put her through, Felicity Merriman had the unshakable feeling that something bad was going to happen before the day was through.

And that one way or the other, it was all going to _end_.


	28. Chapter 28: ReturnTo Forsythe Manor

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Pt3, Ch.28: Return To Forsythe Manor

_And in the mist there she rides  
And castles are burning in my heart  
And I twist as I hold tight  
And I ride to work every morning, wondering why  
"Sit in the chair and be good now" And become all that they told you  
The white coats enter her room  
And I'm callin' my baby, callin' my baby  
callin' my baby, callin'...  
everybody else's girl, maybe one day she'll be her own  
She's been everybody else's girl  
Maybe one day she'll be her own  
- _lines from 'Girl' by the gifted Tori Amos

Ben glanced nervously at Felicity sitting beside him, between himself and Lord Covington, and took note of the way her breathing quickened the closer they came to Forsythe Manor. He had one of her hands enveloped in both of his own, and even through the woolen fabric of her gloves he could feel how she had gone cold. Without a word, he raised her hand and blew his warm breath onto it, an act which rewarded him with a quick and uneasy smile.

"It is all right if you change your mind about going," he whispered to her reassuringly.

"No, I am fine," she replied, an edge in her voice that seemed to betray the look of composure on her pale pixie-face. "I want this over with."

"Just know that I am with you. I'm not about to let anyone or anything snatch you away from me ever again."

She looked at him and smiled a little more. His brown eyes were full of emotion and _de_votion, making it very hard for her to think cross thoughts about him. He could be so sad sometimes, briefly reminding her of the day she went with him out to Jiggy Nye's tannery to see Nye's new horse. He had been so incredibly shy and serious. It didn't take him long to come around, though, not after she confided in him about Penny. The magnificently beautiful mare he had helped her save from Nye brought them together fast. But even after that, even when he started being a little more open and at ease, he would still hold back a world of emotion in his eyes that he never revealed in words.

Felicity remembered her mother saying that a person's actions spoke louder than their words. That's the way it was with Ben Davidson. When he did not have the words, his behavior spoke for him.

His behavior, and his eyes. _The eyes never lie, _Felicity thought distractedly. She supposed that since he was looking at her with such affection and caring that he truly must have been sorry.  
But she didn't really want to think about that right now. Forsythe Manor was just down the road.

She inhaled as best as she could. _I'm going back. I swore that I never would...alive. But here I am. Ben, Elizabeth, Arthur, and an actual ranked peer of the realm are with me this time, though. So why am I not comforted? _She couldn't help but shift in her seat uneasily. The faces of her friends made for better viewing rather than the slightly familiar scenery rattling and rolling by. Elizabeth looking out the open windows of the carriage with a scowl, as if the girl was looking for villains to shriek at...Ben looking anxious and angry, working up his ire so that he could release it upon the Forsythes...Lord Eric looking calm, stern and, of course, quite lordly...Arthur Pratt slumped to the side, mouth open and head rolling, as he was lulled to sleep by the rocking carriage. Felicity grinned. Only Arthur could fall asleep on a carriage ride over some of the worst roads ever created!

The road winded through the wooded track, bringing them nearer to the last place in the world Felicity Merriman wanted to be. She could glimpse the tall, cold wrought iron fence through the trees and shuddered uncontrollably. Ben squeezed her hand, and she felt him stiffen; an automatic reaction to preparing for confrontation. Then the trees cleared and the sinister-looknig gates displaying the Forsythe crest and initials loomed before the carriage. Constable Poon and Sheriff Dribble were on horseback in front of the carriage; the sherrif grabbed the summoning-bell's rope and gave it a harsh yanking, which brought out the grumpy-faced gate-keeper from his little cottage. Felicity gulped, having barely recalled the first time she went through these gates. The gatekeeper took one look at the two lawmen and the fancy carriage that contained the Duke of Bel Hastings, the accusing glares of the bewigged and dapperly-clad footmen, and went white.

"You there!" called Sheriff Dribble authoratively, as he tried to rein his excited horse in a more controlled manner. "Open this gate immediately! We have a warrant for the arrests of Lords Tristan Forsythe and Reginald Maxim Forsythe! Attempt to detain us and you will be subject to prosecution as well!"

The old man no longer looked grumpy. With wide eyes and confused expression, he unlocked the tall wrought iron gates, which Felicity ahd mentally dubbed 'the gates of hell' and stumbled back as the sheriff and constable cantered through, followed by the duke's carriage. Without thinking, Felicity had flattened herself against the padding of the carriage's wall so that the old man would not see her and maybe recognize her. She needn't have worried; the miser was looking fearfully after them.

"Probably more scared about being out of a job than getting in the way of the law," Ben commented with surly humor.

Felicity didn't have the attention to hear him, really. She was too busy looking around at the grounds of the place, left and right, not sure exactly what it was she was looking for: Lettie? A sign of sorts? Her heart had started racing, and her chest was growing tight with dreaded anticipation building up inside her. Part of her _did _indeed feel instinctively terrified to be back here, but she would never openly admit it. Another part of her was determined to let her anger have its way. If it was one thing Felicity Merriman knew, it was how to control, if not vanquish, fear with anger. She convinced herself that it would not be Ben that would have to be held back, it would be _her_.

Ben was watching her face when she saw the eerie statue of the Roman woman. He watched her gulp dryly, and his hands squeezed hers confidently. "This is what you saw when you were brought here?" he asked, as if he were looking for more wood for his already raging bonfire of enotions.

She nodded wordlessly. Good Lord, they were already coming to a halt before the steps up to the manor's entrance.

Elizabeth gave the statue a hrumph of sarcasm. "Wonder if she used to be a _living _being!"

"That is exactly what I thought, too," Felicity said sourly.

"Oh, are we there?" Arthur blinked, roused by the carriage stopping rather than being jolted on the move. He bent forward and looked out of the carriage window nearest him. "I say! This place isn't _nearly _as grand as Bel Hall! What is this, a tomb?"

The duke raised his chin with pride and satisfaction. "No other home in England can compare to Bel Hall because no other home in England has had Evangeline Covington to dwell within it!" He looked at Felicity with full readiness and assurance. "Prepared to strike down the devil, my dear?"

"Yes, your grace," said Felicity firmly.

The constable and the sheriff had already dismounted, gave their horses' reins to the carriage driver, and were coming to assist the two ladies. Felicity bit her lip, caught a glance of something shiny just within Ben's long black cloak and recognized within a second as being his cavalry pistol. Yet it did not alarm her, for she was not afraid of violence. She didn't like it, violence, but if that's what it had to come to...

Her legs felt like pudding as Ben helped her out and down. His hands held her hips as she swayed, her wary eyes looking up at the house, her face drained of all color. Not that she'd had much color to begin with lately. "Why has no one come out?" she wondered aloud, drawing her grey cloak about herself. She'd put her hood on to shield herself from the cold March breeze, and quite possibly any inquisitive eyes that might be peeping out the windows.

"Mayhaps no one can see out because of those dark heavy drapings!" said Elizabeth, who had donned her best 'dare to look at me and I will smite you!' face.

"We will go to the door first, your grace," Constable Poon said, practicing the gruffness in his voice that he liked to use especially with criminals, despite his amiable countenance. "If there is trouble we will signal you."

"Excellent," murmured Eric, who had put on his superior, high-and-mighty-peer-of-the-realm air, to match his elegant attire of black and gold. The button on his hat was actually a miniature of _his _family's crest. He was certainly a cutting figure, preferring riding boots to formal shoes, and his coat was finely detailed in gold without looking dandified. He looked every bit the duke that he was. A force to be reckoned with.

The constable and the sheriff went up the steps. Felicity looked from window to window, looking for faces familiar or not. Few of the rooms had open curtains. She felt Ben so close to her that her right arm bumped his chest if she moved the slightest bit. He had an arm about her waist securely and his other hand was inside his cloak, resting upon the grip of his cavalry pistol. He was definitely ready for action. The scowl of anger was upon his handsome face, his breathing deep in his effort to remain composed for her sake.

That in itself made her a little less mad at him.

The doors of Forsythe Manor opened to reveal the bored expression of Saul Smedley, the butler. In the brief second it took Felicity to recognize him she silently mused over the fact that _he _still had a job. Was Reginald Forsythe even here? Smedley frowned as he took in the severe expressions of the two lawmen, then gazed past them at the little party of five at the botton of the steps standing before a grand carriage to which were harnessed two muscular white horses. There were actually seven people if one counted the dapperly-clad footmen standing on either side of the duke-and these footmen were Tom and James, two of the duke's billiard companions who were otherwise affiable, good-natured young men and who only adapted their air of stiff remoteness whenever their duke put on his. But Smedley did not know these interesting facts, only that a very important man of rank had just arrived unexpectedly with two authorities at his command, and that there were some vaguely familiar faces standing down there with the gentleman.

One of whom he recognized immediately when she lowered the hood of her cloak: Felicity Merriman.

Smedley's eyes widened and his mouth opened as if to exclaim something, but he was cut off right away by Constable Poon, who brought out from inside his coat the two warrants to be read aloud. Mr. Poon informed Smedley as to the nature of the warrants, and if he were to detain them or interfere with their duties that he, too, would be subject to arrest. The aging butler seemed to turn grey. He cast a fuming glare at Felicity, who held her unhooded head high and even smiled a bit.

She, too, could be sinister when she wanted to be.

Then Smedley seemed to recognize Ben. Benjamin Davidson, the young cavalry captain from Williamsburg in the American colony of Virginia. The young man was _here_, in England, at Felicity Merriman's side. The old butler seemed to lose strength, a look of foreboding shadowing his face as he grabbed hol dof the nearest brass door knob for support. Without a choice, and having no opportunity to warn the masters of the manor who had just arrived, Smedley moved back to allow the men entrance.

As he passed, Sheriff Dribble said to the butler, "That man down there: that is His Grace, the Second Duke of Bel Hastings, and the advocate of the accusors. I suppose you know the penalty for disrespecting a peer of the realm?"

"Of course, sir," replied Smedley stiffly, his voice sounding thick with nervousness.

"Very well. Now do give us the locations of Lords Tristan and Reginald Forsythe, please."

Smedley inhaled reluctantly. "As you wish."

The two lawmen disapperaed into the house. Felicity turned to Lord Eric and asked lowly, "Are we not ging inside as well?"

"Only when these villains are brought _out_," he told her with confidence. "You didn't think that I would have you enter this God-forsaken place with them still within, did you?"

She heaved a sigh of relief. "How long do you think it will take?"

"That I do not know, my dear. It depends on when and if the Forsythes are located. If they offer any resistence or-"

He was interrupted by.a scream, a woman's scream and loud voices from within the house. Ben whipped his pistol out without thinking and moved Felicity behind him. Eric surprised them all by striding past Ben and up the steps as if he owned the place.

"Your grace!" Felicity shouted alarmingly. "What are you doing? Something is happeneing in there, do not go in there!"

He acted as if he did not hear her. Tom and James scrambled after him, and before Ben could grab hold of Felicity, she darted out from behind him and took off up the steps in a heated flurry."Lissie, stop! Don't!" he yelled after her in a panic, then he too ran after her. Elizabeth and Arthur looked at each other, startled, then Arthur said,"Why should we get left out of the fray?"

Elizabeth grabbed his hand and hauled him after her.

Felicity's heart was up in her throat, it seemed, as she reached the opened doors of the manor and stepped inside...and gasped. The scream had issued from one of the slave maids, who had retreated away from the grand staircase with her hands flown up to her cheeks, because Tristan Forsythe had managed to get himself down stairs despite swaying drunkenly, hair wild and eyes even wilder. He looked horrible; half of his handsome face was blistered and different shades of red, seemingly unreal with the shine the remaining flesh bore in the light. His eyebrow was gone and the eyelid beneath it was heavy with blistering. Some of the hair on that side of his head was gone, too. The ear was covered in a linen wrap. But the most unnerving sight of all was the way one corner of his mouth was stretched as a result of the taut burnt skin pulling it unnaturally back.

In the fleeting seconds it took for Felicity to recognize him, she believed him to finally look like the monster he truly was.

And Tristan saw her as well. He gritted his teeth and screeched, "YOU! You're the bitch who did this to me!" He swayed dangerously from the bottom step of the stairs, using the post to cling to with both arms. His voice sounded rapsy and savage, somewhat indistinct by the damaged skin around the side of his mouth. Constable Poon and Sheriff Dribble lingered close to him, trying to get closer to him from opposite sides, their pistols drawn. Tristan's father, Fletcher Forsythe was attempting to edge toward his son as if to grab him and physically defend him from the two lawmen. Fletcher's face was a flushed red beneath his snow white peruke wig.

Felicity's breath held in fear, but her feet remaine planted where she stood as the duke inched toward her protectively.

"Arrest _her_!" Tristan screamed in a mad rage, pointing at Felicity. "She did this to me! She and that Negro witch tried to murder me!"

Felicity snapped in _her _anger as well. "You were attempting to assault me! You had already taken advantage of Lettie _twice_! You know very well what you did!" Before anyone else could say another word she quickly said to Poon and Dribble, "He is a slave-abuser! He forces himself upon the very women who have been stolen from their homes and brought here to be forced into a life they would have never chose for themselves!"

Lord Eric, icily composed and in full authority added, "And I know that what Miss Merriman says is true. She herself is a victim of abduction."

Fletcher Forsythe pointed an angry finger at the duke. "You know nothing about my son! He is not responsible for bringing this harlot to England! She was merely about to recieve what she had been asking for!"

"Reginald!" Tristan hissed viciously. "She is Reginald's bitch! He brought her here, he is to blame!"

Constable Poon raised his pistol as if to shoot at the ceiling. "I demand order here! The first person to step out of line will recieve a bullet for his troubles! Now be quiet, all of you!"

There was indeed a deadly moment of silence, but only for a second, then the tall, spindly maid with the dark red hair and spectacles Felicity remembered as being named Genevieve trotted in to see what all the commotion was about, saw Tristan and his father, saw the lawmen, then saw Felicity and shrieked, "Lady Forsythe!"

"Her _name _is Felicity _Merriman_," growled a vengeful voice. Ben had entered, taking his place beside Felicity and getting an arm around her waist tightly. "Soon to be _Davidson_. There is no real marriage to the bastard Reginald."

"Who the hell are _you_?" Tristan spat, looking Ben up and down in his crazed maliciousness.

"Felicity's fiance, Captain Davidson of Lieutenant Colonel Harry Lee's Legion of cavalry in General Washington's Continental army," Ben told him nastily, looking Tristan up and down with equal hatred. "I am also the man who is going to damage you a hell of a lot worse than some measley barn fire ever could!"

Tristan made a sound in fury that was some horrible sound that neither 'scream' nor 'shreik' could describe, but he made an insane lunge toward Ben with gritted teeth and every intention of trying to tear the young captain apart, but Fletcher and Sheriff Dribble caught him, wrestled with him with all of their strength, as Ben pulled Felicity behind him again protectively. He had his pistol in one hand, finger on the trigger.

"You're going to claim this bitch as your own?" Tristan sneered madly at him. "HA! _I've _already had her! And what a treat she was, too! She likes it rough!"

"That is a lie!" Felicity shouted, riled to the point of squashing her anger. She stepped out from behind Ben and glared at Tristan, her green eyes ablaze with her own outrage. "You certainly tried to take advantage of me the way you did Lettie and countless other women, but fortunately for woman-kind you were halted the only way a woman defending herself could!"

"Still trying to play innocent, eh, hellion?" he oozed shakingly, his good eye flicking over her pervertedly. He licked his lips, the wolf hungry for dinner. "How would your heroic fiance like to know how you arranged a deal with me to get to go home? A roll in the hay for a trip on a ship?"

"I already _know _about your so-called 'deal,' Forsythe," Ben snarled hotly at him. "And I know Felicity changed her mind about it. _You _got mad and tried to force your sorry self on _my _finace. How else was she and Lettie to stop your kind?"

"And you believed her?" Tristan's laugh was crazed and unnerving, just like his twisted expression. "Good God, boy, don't you know when a woman is playing you? She'll say anything to get herself back into your good graces so that she can find a warm bed to lie in! Fool! That woman will play the part of the hapless victim just to make a fool out of a man for sport! Don't tell me you don't know _her _kind! The little bitch may look all sweet and pristine, but I assure you she's not! She likes a man on top-"

"Oh you are such a _whoreson_!" Felicity screamed, her fists in balls at her sides. "What do you think you are doing, lying like that? You cannot save your own skin, not even literally!" She whirled on Ben, her eyes full of suspicion and severity. "Well, Ben? This is your golden opportunity to prove yourself! Do you believe him or _me_? And speak the truth, because I cannot nor will not take any more of this sickening situation! Now which is it?"

Ben had been glaring maliciously at Tristan, who's eyes were going back and forth, from Felicity to Ben and back as if he were watching a game of sorts. Ben looked at Felicity, his expression immediately softening. He held his arm out to her. "I believe _you_, my love. Always."

A tremendous wave of relief crashed over her as she stepped back into the tight hold of his arm and allowed herself to be squeezed intensely to his body.

Tristan sneered savagely. "Suit yourself, fool," he cursed through clenched teeth. "But the bitch will kill you in your sleep if she can. You will regret-"

"I have had enough of you," Ben interrupted him coldly, raising his cavalry pistol again. "Though you are not directly involved with the abduction of my fiance, you have hurt and abused far too long. If you cannot be hung, then I will make England a better place by ridding the land of you."

"Stop him!" Fletcher Forsythe cried of Ben in defence of his son, whom he had to restrain as best he could from lunging at people.

A shot was indeed fired, but it was by Sheriff Dribble, into the air and therefore into the dark ceiling of the foyer. "There will be peace and civility in here or I will have you _all _arrested!" An eerie hush descended upon the room, aside from Tristan's raspy breathing. There were still plenty of glares and death stares to go around. In the background, Elizabeth and Arthur were murmuring to themselves. Mr. Dribble shoved his pistol back into its holseter, straightened his jacket and addressed them all in a loud clear voice:

"I am here to take into custody one Reginald Maxim Forsythe on the charges of abduction, attempt at murder, and illegal marriage, to start with. Now where is the accused Lord Fosythe?"

"He is mucking about somewhere on the property," said Fletcher hastily, with tremendous aggravation. "Look for him at your own free will."

"That we will do," assured Mr. Poon, pursing his lips. "And as for the _other _Lord Forsythe, this one named Tristan here, we have charges of abuse and intent to harm an abducted woman and the abuse of slaves. Do you, Lord Tristan Forsythe, deny these charges?"

"I did nothing that those lowly women didn't ask for, including this one here! It is my cousin and his dead father who owned the slaving business!"

"So you do deny the charges against you?" asked Dribble.

"YES!"

The sheriff stepped back and bowed as much as his achy lower back would allow, "Your Grace, if you will."

Lord Eric was all business and aristocraticy as he stepped forward looking ever so empowered and regal in his stance and manner. Tom and James raised their chins haughtly as they flanked their duke loyally. Eric looked down his nose at Tristan as if the crazed young man was a loathsome little bug. "as Duke of Bel Hastings, I am insisting on having you arrested, then put on trial, where I have no doubt your case will be judged in _my _favor. Which is to say you shall be sentenced to death by hanging."

As Tristan's eyes bulged and his twisted mouth gaped, he struggled against his father's hold. Fletcher cried out in horror: "Your Grace! He is my only son!"

"Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you raised him the way you did," was Lord Eric's cool reply. "Do not assume I am the only human being in the west of England that has heard of the neglectful, selfish and careless habits of the Forsythe family. As a matter of fact, the entire slaving opposition movement is most interested in the heinous goings-on here. Do you not agree, Mr. Dribble?"

"Oh indeed," agreed the sheriff readily.

"I needn't remind you that the slaving business is all but finished in Bristol," Eric went on to say, smoothly. "Any attempt by you, Lord Fletcher, to re-engage Alistair Forsythe's defunct business will result in my merciless pursuit to see you penniless and out among the very vagrants you spit upon. Is that understood?"

"Yes, of course, your grace," sputtered Fletcher, clearly unhappy at being threatened and told what to do, but still wanted to argue his son's case here and now. "But my only _son_-"

"Your _son_!" Eric interrupted so loudly that it made both Felicity and Ben flinch, "must now face the consequences of his actions! Had he not been striving to assault not one, but _two _innocent women, then he would not be in the predicament he is in! Having him shot dead here and now would be too swift a punishment and too lenient a resolution. Sheriff, I want this man arrested and transported to Newgate Prison."

"NO! Nooo!" Tristan howled, raging against the restraining arms of his father and Constable Poon. The sheriff removed the coil of rope he'd humg upon hi sleft shoulder, and went behind Tristan to bind his arms and wrists.

Lord Eric had yet to finish. "It is by my authority that the slaves here are to be freed. If my orders are not carried out within the month, I will call for other prosecutions. Now, I demand the whereabouts of Reginald Forsythe this instant."

"We-we don't exactly know where he is here, yer grace," stuttered Genevieve, her attention being tossed between watching maniacal Tristan fighting being tied and the severe look upon the duke's face. " 'E could be anywhere on the grounds. That's what 'e does, wander around like a lost sheep, ever since 'is wife here-"

"She is _not _his wife!" blurted Ben angrily, stepping toward her threateningly. "She is soon to become mine! _His _is not a real marriage because it was forced! I believe you know this!"

Genevieve looked Ben up and down and gulped. The young American cavalry captain would be utterly handsome if he did not look as if he were wanted to clench her skinny throat with his gloved hands.

Eric turned to Felicity. "Do you wish to search for your friend Lettie now? Apparently, Dribble and I have to hunt about for Forsythe ourselves. Either Tom or James can assist you."

"Yes, I would very much like to look for her now," Felicity replied eagerly, glancing over at Tristan , who had been somewhat subdued much to her relief. Poon had stuck a handkerchief into his loud mouth to silence him. "I would rather Tom and James help you find Reginald. I have Ben to help me find Lettie."

"And the two of us!" added Elizabeth, who came forward with Arthur, who was still watching Tristan as if he were marvelling over a bizarre circus act. "We will help you!" She, too, looked at Tristan. "Such a foul creature that Tristan is! Lissie, I am so thankful to God you were able to escape him!"

"Let us hope that Lettie was as well," Felicity sighed tensely. The constable and the sheriff hauled Tristan out of the still open front doors, but not before Tristan could cast a look of blind hatred at Felicity, who stood her ground and lifted her chin victoriously, icily, as he was then forced out of the house.

"What will they do with him?" she asked after a moment.

"Keep him bound up for the _walk _back to Bristol," the duke told her pleasantly, reverting back to his affiable self. "Hopefully, they shall have Reginald to tow along behind them as well. They will spend a night in a prison cell before being taken to Newgate."

"And then?" Ben wanted to know.

"And then they will await trial, which could take years because there are so many waiting ahead of them."

Felicity frowned. "So all that they will do is sit in a cell?"

Lord Eric smiled at her dissatisfaction. "I know, it seems to be better than they deserve, doesn't it. But I assure you, there are criminals who have committed suicide just to avoid being taken there. The conditions are deplorable, I assure you."

Ben sneered.

Felicity took Ben's arm. "Please, let us go look for her. I know my way around here. Unfortunately."

"And if _we _should find Reginald along the way..." Ben held up his pistol. "I might have to decide his fate for him!"

"It would be well served," agreed the duke approvingly. He turned to his footmen. "Tom, James, let us search the grounds."

"Aye, your grace," the two of them replied, eager for action as well.

Fletcher forsythe gave them all dirty, vengeful looks. But reprehensible looks was all he could afford, for he dare not make a move against a ranked peer of the realm or _his _death would be swifter than his son's. The only agreeable action being taken here, in his opinion, was the possiblity of getting rid of that bothersome, moping Reginald. One way or the other. Fletcher Forsythe turned and strode to the front doors of the manor which was now his to see what was being done to shi son now. His daughter, Tristan's younger sister, stood at the doorway of the nearest parlor, sniffing and wringing a hankie.

Arthur and Elizabeth followed Felicit and Ben up the cold marble staircase. Elizabeth marveled at the place, but in a good way. "LIssie, this place is so morbid! 'Tis like it makes a person _want _to be a lunatic!"

"That it does," Felicity said stiffly. She didn't like being back here at all. This was for Lettie, and for that reason alone she would endure it. There was always the possibility that Lettie wasn't even here, and that Felicity hoped was true. But she had to make sure. Lettie was too important to her to just abandon hope. "Here," she said dully as they stopped on the first floor landing. "Let me show you where I was kept."

Ben put an arm around her shoulders and hardened his grip on his pistol in his other hand. "We're with you, Lissie, all the way. What you suffered, let us suffer too."

"There has been more than enough suffering here," she told them as she led the way to the room she was locked up in. With each step, however, she felt renewed dread seeping through her veins, stronger than before.

No, this wasn't over yet, not by a long shot. Something terrible was still about to happen.

* * *

**Author Blab: **At my livejournal site, at . I have a 'Felicity's Future' Poll for fans to vote on. It's really pointless, but I made it in the extremely slip hope that someone from AG/Pleasant Company will see it and acknowledge that we want Felicity with Ben. We ALL KNOW FELICITY BELONGS WITH BEN, but there are, unfortunately, people who do not think likewise. I know, disgusting, isn't it? Anyway, just amuse me and stop by and give Felicity and Ben a vote, okay? Thanks you guys!


	29. Chapter 29:Searching The Manor

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Pt3, Ch29: Searching The Manor

She led the way into the room that still haunted her off and on. Her own face paled and her stomach lurched threateningly, but she held herself firmly in her determination to overcome the fear, face it and move on. She absently figured that since she was back here, she might as well slay as many dragons as possible. "This is- was- his little room for me. The only thing that made it bearable was being allowed to have Lettie stay with me."

Ben looked around the room, a snarl of hatred upon his lips. Sky blue and white. The entire manor seemed to be just as he'd heard it described; one big tomb, but even if this was the only lightly-colored room in the place it was _still _just as cold and depressing as the other rooms he'd glimpsed. He looked at Felicity then, watching Arthur and Elizabeth look around at the room and the tall windows with their heavy drapes pulled but for a crack in their center parts. He pulled Felicity to him, feeling the need to feel her against him to reassure himself that she was not about to disappear.

"I'm sorry," he breathed into her ear. "It is amazing how you survived this place and the monsters that dwell in it."

"Yes, well..." Her voice sounded almost choked. "When you live among monsters, you have to sort of become one yourself to survive."

He had no words for the sorrow, guilt and emotion that filled him when she said that. He kissed her cheek and jaw, drew back to look into her wary green eyes, but she was looking past his shoulder at where they had come into the room. "There," she said to them all, and pointed. "That is what is called a jib-door. When you close it, it looks like it becomes part of the wall, like there is no door at all."

Ben turned and looked, as did Elizabeth. Arthur was standing nearest the door, so he took hold of it and shut it halfway, looking behind it, then at the wall. He looked back at Felicity with astonishment on his face. "Have you ever seen such a thing? It does indeed look like the wall!" He made to close it all the way, but felicity gasped and blurted, "No, don't-!"

Arthur stopped, blinking.

Felicity blushed crimson. "I mean, do not shut it...it might not...reopen." Her voice faded to an uncomfortable softness.

"No one is locking you _or _us in here. You just go on and damn this room to hell, and we shall leave it to continue our search," Ben soothed, the promise in his voice warm and believeable as he took her hand again.

Elizabeth laid a hand upon her friend's shoulder. "Come, Lissie, let's go. Knowing this room is part of the nightmare you endured is giving me the chills, so I cannot fathom how you were able to bear it."

Felicity shrugged lightly, pretending to feel nothing now. " 'Tis quite easy when you turn your thoughts to murdering your captors."

Ben and Elizabeth exchanged a worried look.

They left behind the room of Felicity's imprisonment, its stark white furniture and its unkind air. Other than the bed having been made, there was no evidence that she had ever been there at all. What Felicity failed to tell them and the thing that she had noticed right away was that the cot that Lettie had slept on was gone. She didn't have a good feeling about that, but she kept it to herself, hoping Lettie was not here at all. She showed them into the other rooms on that floor, all drab, dark and depressing, all reflecting the manor's atmosphere of foreboding. Ben's breathing had increased again, a sign that he was getting worked up about something once more.

"Where _is _the little son of a bitch?" he murmured to himself as he looked from room to room.

Felicity cleared her throat. "Knowing him the way I do, I really do not think that he would remain inside the house where he could be found so easily. He is insane and desperate, and he does not want to be imprisoned. I personally think that he will be trying to get away somehow. He may have seen us arrrive and therefore fled." She swallowed bitterly. "This manor has its dark rooms and the basement for keeping the slave women, but there is no real reliable place to hide."

"Then we will look elsewhere!" challenged Arthur optimistically. "His Grace and his footmen are looking the grounds over, and the sheriff will assist them, but they do not know those gardens. Is there a place out there the bastard Forsythe could hide?"

"I-I don't know for certain," Felicity admitted hesitantly. "I wasn't...allowed out that much."

Ben swore, and Elizabeth merely nodded in agreement, whereas a proper gentlewoman would have been appalled by such language, even in a situation such as this one. But the four of them knew the severity of the situation better than anyone else. There _was _a time when propriety no longer mattered.

"Right. We're going out there, too," Ben growled, taking Felicity's arm to go back to the staircase. "That is, Arthur and I. You and Elizabeth can stay-"

"Oh no you don't, Benjamin Davidson!" Felicity exclaimed, pulling her arm away from him. "I have a friend to look for, and if I have to go outside to look for her, then I will do it come what may!"

"As will I!" included Elizabeth, stepping close to her.

"I understand! But until Reginald is found, will you please stay inside where it is a little safer at least? I doubt any of those _other _Forsythe idiots will bother you, but seeing as how the little rat isn't here, he must be outside, and we need to apprehend him first!" He sheathed his pistol and took Felicity's face into his hands. "I can't lose you, not ever, ever again, Lissie. I cannot risk you, I will not. We will find Lettie, I promise you, but keeping you safe is my first and most important goal."

She didn't want to argue any more. She sighed and relented. Suddenly she was a little less mad at him than she was earlier.

The four of them returned to the foyer, but they did not wait around for someone to show them where the back entrance and exit to the manor was. But then no one was waiting around to assist them in any way, not that they expected it. Ben had drawn his gun again and Arthur Pratt wished he had a firearm too, for Ben looked awfully sporting with his. He made a mental note to have Elizabeth teach him how to use one sometime.

"Their inside kitchen is this way," Felicity told them, getting ahead of Ben to lead the way. "There is a door that opens out to the path to the gardens and stables; the path splits in two different directions. The right one takes you to the gardens, and the left, well, you know..."

"Simple enough," commented Ben. "Where are all the servants these Forsythes are supposed to have?"

"I have no clue! 'Tis strange, even for this place! All but two of the woman servants are white, the others are black slaves like Lettie, and their quarters are in the basement. Oh, there's a big roundy woman named Madame Helga, but I haven't a clue as to where she is, either." She looked at Elizabeth with a disgusted face. "Helga is the one who carried me into your and Arthur's house that night and helped the Gooch make it look like the worst had happened."

"I hope she is here, then," Elizabeth said angrily. "Though it is my own fault I jumped to conclusions, this 'Helga' should be strangled for what she did to you."

Ben was looking from doorway to doorway at the sunrooms, sitting rooms and parlours they passed, and muttered, "If you see her, Lissie, point her out and I'll give her a bullet for her troub-"

"What, what is it, Ben?" Felicity nervously urged more than she did ask, turning to look back at his wide eyes and opened mouth. He'd stopped himself mind-sentence, obviously caught off guard because of something. "Ben?"

Without a word he slipped into the room nearest to him. Felicity hesitated a moment, then strode after him, determined to find out what it was that had him so distraugt all of a sudden. When she breezed into the room after him, she saw why: above the grey marble mantle of the lit fireplace was her own painted portrait, the very one she'd been forced to sit for, for hours on end until she could no longer feel her own numb rump. So this is what had become of it. This room was Reginald's study. It had been hung here for his viewing pleasure. Knowing that made her shudder right to the bone.

"Is there something awful in here?" inquired Arthur, as Elizabeth pulled him into the room after her.

Elizabeth gasped in shock when she saw the blank-faced painting of her best friend hanging up there like some tribute to depression. "Felicity, it is you!" she exclaimed in morbid wonder. " 'Tis your very likeness! And-and- you look so..."

"Damned miserable," Ben finished for her, mesmirized in both awe and rage. Awe that it looked so real, so life-like, and thn rage that the girl he loved had been forced to sit through the painting process, against her will, just for some mad-man's pleasure. He was filled with a hatred for Reginald Forsythe that went beyond anything he'd felt thus far.

Felicity gulped despite a dry throat and turned to Ben. "Destroy it."

Ben didn't need to be told twice. He immediately holstered his pistol, then bent down to whip out the very knife Felicity had given to him for his eighteenth birthday from its sheath in one of his boots. Arthur readily assisted him in pulling the heavily-framed painting down from its nail, down to the floor, where Ben began to slash and score. Felicity stared at her own stony face in the picture and felt somewhat vindicated. The Felicity in the painting was not the Felicity she wanted to be. Not now, nor ever again. The painted-Felicity was finally being destroyed for good.

She glaned curiously at the doorway, at first wondering why no one had come to see what the ripping and slicing was about, but then it occured to her that no one who lived here would probably care that this particular portrait was being destroyed. After all, it was only _hers_. None of the Forsythes that lived her now would even care. Good. She didn't want any evidence of her being here any more than they did.

"Ordinarily, I would object to an image of you being harmed in any way," Ben breathed, straightening. His eyes met hers and held. "But I do not want these rotten people to have anything of you."

Felicity smiled at him smartly. "Nor do I."

She held her hand out to him. Ben resheathed his knife and took her hand right away, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Arthur did them all a favor, and took what was left of the now raggedly scored painting and frame, and tossed it into the fire, where it flamed brilliantly for a moment, then began being reduced to ashes nice and quick.

"Let's go," Ben said directly, wanting very mcuh to leave this room and its dismal appearance behind. "I have a weasel to hunt."

Felicity led the way to the indoor kitchen and stopped them in the middle of it. "The slaves' quarters are down in the basement. You go through thaqt little corridor there and there is a door on the left. When you open it, there are stairs that lead down to the basement. That is where Elizabeth and I shall look for Lettie. I'd rather she not be there, but I have to make sure."

"I know," Ben said understandingly. "And this is the back door to the barn and the gardens?"

"Yes. Please be careful, Ben."

He flashed her a beautiful grin. "If I had not been named 'Ben,' I would have been named 'Careful'!"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"I want Arthur to stay with the two of you," Ben continued. "Now I know that you're not helpless, 'tis not that. I would just feel better if he was with you. I...I promised you, Lissie, that I would never leave you, ever again..."

"You are _not _leaving me!" she insisted. "We will be right here, inside, waiting for you to return with Reginald's body. So go hunt for him." To Ben's surprise, Felicity leaned up tip-toe and kissed the bridge of his nose. "We have hunting of our own to do." And she whirled, heading for the slaves' quarters. Elizabeth gave Ben an annoyed look then she and Arthur followed Felicity.

Ben stared after his girl for a moment, feeling a mix of things; love, awe, wonder...and intense arousal. He was going to kiss her like mad tonight, he decided. But now he had to force his concentration back to the matter at hand: Weasel-poaching. He fumbled beneath his cloak for his pistol again, having been momentarily distracted by the brief kiss from the girl he was going to take for his wife. Surely this meant she was forgiving him. She said she had already forgiven him, but as long as there was still pain in her beautiful eyes, he would never feel forgiven. Not until she was healed inside.

He raised his flintlock and strode to the back door.

Felicity flung open the door to the slaves quarters and saw only a lit lantern to light the way down into the basement. "Hullo?" she called uncertainly, thinking that at this time of the day there really shouldn't be anyone down here unless a girl was sick. But that wouldn't be a surprise, since it was cool and damp down here most of the time, even with an unreliable fireplace. "Anyone down here?"

"What do you want to do, Lissie?" Elizabeth whispered behind her. "Go down?"

"Yes, I must. I have to be sure."

"Then we are with you!"

Felicity nodded. She could aslight from the fireplace flickering from where they stood at the top of the stairs, which meant that they would not be in complete darkness. The girl slaves were probably at work in the vegetable gardens right now. So, who might be down here to need the fire going?

"Pompey!" Felicity exclaimed as she rounded the corner and stepped into view.

"Lady Forsythe!" the aging black butler exclaimed, which for him didn't sound all that surprised, for he _was _old and too much excitement would probably not be in his heart's best interest. As Felicity breezed toward him, holding her hands out to him, he smiled gently. His hands were cool and rough, but yet fatherly in a way that touched Felicity's heart.

"No, Pompey, I am not Lady Forsythe anymore, not that I truly ever was. The marriage was forced, and never consumated. I am just plain Felicity Merriman from the colony of Virginia. How are you, Pompey?"

"Ah, the same as I ever was, child," he replied tiredly, his smile unwavering, though. "What brings you back here? I thought you'd gotten away?"

"Oh I did! I ran like the very devil was at my heels and wound up, of all places, in the home of the Duke of Bel Hastings. Please, Pompey, tell me if Lettie is here! The Duke has declared all the slaves here free, which means you do not have to stay here anymore, none of you do!"

The black gentleman's deep brown eyes were tinged with softness. "Well that is good to hear, Miss...Merriman. But these young girls and I have no where to go. We'll stay on here until we know what we're going to do. As for Lettie, I had a feeling you'd be back for her. But she is not here anymore, child. We dont know where she is."

Felicity looked momentarily worried, then remembered herself. She gestured widely at her friends standing just behind her. "Pompey, these are my friends from Virginia. Elizabeth Cole and Arthur Pratt."

Elizabeth curtsied and Arthur bowed, removing his tricorn even. Pompey certainly wasn't used to having the white folk bend and bow for him, so he was actually quite pleased. He nodded at them in turn.

"Elizabeth, Arthur, this Pompey, one of the quietest, tolerant _gentlemen _you will ever meet. To have endured in this house for as long as he has, I figure him to have more patience than Job."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Arthur said affiably, extending a hand. "_Anyone _who has been a friend to our Felicity is most and deeply respected."

"Pompey, do you have any idea what happened to Lettie?" Felicity asked worriedly, a lump forming in her throat. "Where she might have run to- if she is even alive? I swore I would not leave without her, and I will not!"

"I know she had taken a liking to you, against her better judgement, she used to say, but we knew she wouldn't have done so much for someone she didn't like. The night of that fire we all thought that she ahd perished, but no remains of her were found, and Master Tristan, he didn't know anything beyond his own suffering." Pompey bent his head forward and said in a hushed tone, "Which was well deserved, Miss, if you don't mind me saying so."

Felicity smiled warmly. "Oh I do not mind a bit. I hate that he even survived it, and I do not mind who knows it!" That seemed to make Pompey feel most relieved, since it was well known that a black slave could be in a world of trouble for speaking out against a white master, even if everyone white _and _black knew the master was a monster. And when Pompey was saying 'we,' Felicity knew he meant himself and the slave girls, _not _the white household.

"Lettie is a strong girl," Pompey went on, thoughtfully. "We all hoped that she had gone away with you. Then word got out that that the two of you were missing and a reward was being offered. At first I wondered if Lettie had been caught and turned in for a reward, but she hasn't been back, and it is just not like her to let herself be caught that easily, Miss. I'd say she's just out there, somewhere, making her own freedom."

Felicity didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. "I hoped she would not be here, Pompey, but I had to know for certain. I hope that she is truly out there, free and unfound. Lord, I just wish I knew!" She shook her red head absently. "But where are the other girls? They should know that they have been freed."

"I will tell them," Pompey said reassuringly, in his wise, tolerant way.

"Could we not tell Lord Covington that the slaves here do not have anywhere to go, so that he could help them, Lissie?" asked Elizabeth, having been deep in thought herself. "They should not have to continue living here now that they are freed."

"That is quite correct, Elizabeth!" She turned back to Pompey. "I shall speak to the duke about your leaving here. Is that agreeable to you?"

"Yes, Miss. I would be most appreciative. Never have addressed a duke myself," he smiled modestly. "The young ladies are out in the fields, Miss Felicity, planting. There were some deaths because of the fevers while you were gone, I come down here to clean what needs to be cleaned for them so they don't have to come back to any extra messes."

"Pompey, you're a blessing," Felicity told him, clasping his hands once more. "I hope to see you again, soon. Right now we are waiting for my fiance Ben and the other fellows to return with Reginald in their custody. I hope they find him!"

"Master Reginald is not right in his head, Miss. You should be careful. He has been allowed to stay here, for his Mother's sake, but he's been acting as gone in his mind as she is. Speaks to himself most of the time. He comes in and out of the house like a ghost."

"They will find him. They _have _to find him. I want all of this over with! Have you seen him about, Pompey?"

"Not since last night, when he was drinking wine in his study. Haven't seen him all day."

"Thank you, Pompey. I promise I will do all I can to help you and the others."

He chuckled lightly. "I know you will, Miss Felicity."

She gave him her best posiitive smile, which right then wasn't very positive at all, seeing as how no one knew the whereabouts of Reginald or Lettie. She turned back to her friends. "I suppose we should go back upstairs and see if they have found him yet."

" 'Twice nice to meet you, Pompey," said Elizabeth respectfully, curtsying again. "Please take care."

Pompey nodded pleasantly, watching them go, a certain twinkle in his eye that went unnoticed by the young white people because they were too absorbed in apprehending Master Reginald. If only he had been able to tell them that which he had known for weeks now!

* * *

After an hour or so, Ben, Lord Eric, the sheriff, Tom and James all returned to the manor having found no trace of Reginald Forsythe. "The grounds have been thoroughly searched," Ben told her dismally, his cavalry pistol reholstered. "He is no where to be found! Now what are we going to do?"

With Fletcher Forsythe watching them converse among themselves in the foyer from his stance at a parlor doorway, the duke said contemplatively, "I will organize search parties. Offer rewards for his capture the very same way he did for you, Miss Felicity. He _will _be found. Tristan is to go to the nearest cell in Bristol, so he is no longer a threat. I will arrange for Reginald's slaves to be removed, as per your request, my dear, and you can be relieved to know that I have friends who will hire them on a paying basis and even provide housing for them. How does that sound to you?"

"Splendid," said Felicity satisfactorilly. "Now I just want to find Lettie...and Reginald. I hate to think of him being out there, plotting and scheming. I thought that was what I would have to worry about with _Tristan_!"

"Never underestimate the wicked!" advised Arthur (as if he knew all about the habits of lunatics), "for they think in underhanded ways!"

"Er, thank you, Arthur," said Eric, stifling a smile. He knew Fletcher was still watching them with a world of contempt in his grey eyes, so he turned, a look of amusement on his handsome face, and regarded the elder Forsythe with a cocked eyebrow. "I assume I will not be recieving any further trouble from you?"

Fletcher's arms were crossed stiffly over his puffed out chest. "What course of action is there for me to take against a _duke_?" he replied coldly.

"None that I can think of," Eric told him lightly. " 'Tis your son who created his situaion, not I. Perhaps a barrister can find a way to get him life in prison instead of death by hanging, but I doubt it. See him when you can, Fletcher, and appologize for raising him to be such a blackard." On a more serious note, he added, "Do not cross me, Forsythe, for I can make life extremely hard for you, Do not ever forget that."

"Hrumph!" snorted Fletcher.

"Oh, and another thing: when and if you see your nephew Reginald again, do send for a constable or sheriff. Harboring a wanted felon _is _an offence, you know."

"You really think I wanted the foul little mole here in the first place? As far as I'm concerned, he merely assisted in getting my only son trapped in this nightmare."

"Glad you see it that way, Fletcher." Lord Eric turned to his young companions. "Well, there is naught for us to do but return to Bel Hall and await report from the search parties I send out. Our work here is finished."

Felicity nodded as Ben put his arm around her. They followed the duke and his footmen out of Forsythe Manor for what Felicity hoped to truly be the last and final time ever. No one bothered to acknowledge the brooding Fletcher Forsythe as they passed him, but then he really didn't care if they did or not. He was too busy thinking of how he was going to save the life of his only son. Tristan himself was sitting on the very bottom step outside the manor, his arms and wrists now bound in front of him. He would not be riding a horse, but _trailing _the sheriff's horse on foot, all the way back to Bristol, which was about five harsh miles of road away to the south. He did not look at all comforted.

He had given Felicity and Ben the evilest of glares as they got into the duke's fine carriage, but he had been unable to say anything because of the strip of linen Constable Poon had gagged him with. Bound and gagged, he was the complete picture of humiliation...and evil, as Felicity thought, looking at his scarred face. The carriage started out with a gentle jolt, and they were leaving Forsythe Manor somewhat victorious. Lord Eric told them that the butler Smedley would be eventually jailed for his role in all of this, because Ezekiel Gooch had been very specific in confessing to who all did what in Reginald's mad plans here and abroad in the colonies. Confession had spared the Gooch's life, but imprisonment was unavoidable.

During the ride back to Bel Hall, Felicity found herself looking forward to falling alseep in Ben's long, strong arms tonight, with the warmth and solidity of his lean body to both excite and comfort her. Sitting beside her now in the carriage, he was quiet and contemplative, probabaly cursing mentally over not getting to kill Reginald today. But he had an arm around her and his other hand held hers. His forehead rested against her temple and his warm breath tickled her ear.

She was finding herself less mad at him more and more. She didn't know whether to be glad or mad about _that_, either.

It was getting close to sunset when they got back to Bel Hall, where Elizabeth and Arthur excused themselves to change clothes for dinner and Lord Eric escorted Constable Poon into his grand study to discuss getting together a band of able-bodied men to look for Forsythe as soon as it was morning. That left Felicity and Ben to decide what _they _wanted to do before supper. Felicity thought about it, and decided that she wanted to see Maggie out in the big kitchen behind the house. Ben decided to go with her, of course.

Maggie was all eagerness and questions as soon as they got out there, sitting themselves at the big prep table for hot tea she already had going. She wanted details, and who all was arrested and for what. The other two maids whom Felicity had become friends with quit their duties to listen to Felicity tell what had happened at the house of the strange Forsythes they had often heard about but never seen. Felicity relented to answer them and tell what all she'd seen and heard, but Ben got distracted by the sound of what he thought were pebbles being kicked just outside the big kitchenhouse.

He excused himself from the ladies, chuckling at Maggies' fussing over Felicity's safety and well-being like a mother hen. The reconaissance soldier in him wanted to find out what was making the pebble-kicking sound, for a man of Lee's Legion left no stone unturned, especially when it was thought that enemies were in the area. He stepped outside the kitchen house, turned the left-hand corner and stopped dead in his tracks:

Looking pale, haggard and eerily unbalanced, Rginald Forsythe was standing there as if he'd been waiting, with a flintlock pistol aimed straight at Ben.


	30. Chapter 30:Felicity's Revenge

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Pt3, Ch30: Felicity's Revenge

Ben's mouth dropped open to express outrage, surprise, anger, _something_, but Reginald didn't care. He stood about ten feet away, which was still in adequate distance to put a bullet into Ben's chest if he shot. Ben didn't get the chance to say _anything _at first, for Reginald spoke first: "Do not make a sound, rebel, or it will be your last."

Ben shut his mouth, swallowed uneasily. Forsythe's hands were shaking, which meant if he shot he would likely miss Ben altogether. Ben considered making a rush at him, leaving to chance the possibility that if he _did _get shot, that it would not be fatal. No, he wouldn't risk that- yet. 'Twas all too clear why Forsythe was here: to get Felicity, in what the damned fop probably considered to be one way or the other.

"_You _are not supposed to be here, rebel," Reginald said shiveringly, through clenched teeth. What the hell was wrong with him? "_You _were supposed to believe Felicity unfaithful and continued on with your undeserving life. Felicity is _mine_!"

"You're wrong," Ben told him, his voice low, hoping that Felicity would not hear thier voices and come running out. He wanted to get Forsythe on his own and especially without any harm to his soon-to-be wife. _Please, Lissie, stay inside! _"Your vile tricks separated Felicity from me for awhile, but the truth came out, Forsythe. The truth always wins. It is over. You cannot possibly hope to gain anything by being here. A search party is being organized by Lord Covington at this very moment. What do you think they will do to you when they find you here?"

"Oh, but they won't," Reginald assured him chillingly. "And when they find _you_, it will be too late. Now put your hands up."

"You really think a shot from a flintlock will go unheard?" Ben's arms slowly went up, so as to not further agitate the already seemingly intensely agitated fop. "There are women just inside this kitchen here."

"I know that!" he snapped nervously.

"So why are you here, Forsythe?"

"Why do you think, idiot? I have come for my _wife_!"

Anger flamed raw and deep inside him, but Ben slammed it down, trying to think instead on how he was going to disarm the crazed lunatic before him. "No, Reginald, she is not your wife. 'Twas a forced marriage, unconsummated, not a marriage at all. Not if you had to pay the clergy to bribe them in a way that they were willing to find mutually beneficial."

"Shut up! What's done is done! Now, you are going to turn around and walk back into that kitchen and bring Felicity out to me! You will do it or I will shoot you like I've already a mind to!"

"No, Reginald, I will not do that. You will never lay a hand on Felicity again."

Inside the kitchen, listening to Maggie and the maids argue about woman's rights and man's follies, Felicity had a strange feeling come over her, like chills of some sort. Ben had stepped out, but she had not thought much of it since she'd been distracted by Maggie's chatter about someone's late husband being a cuckhold. But now she was getting the sense that something was wrong. Ben didn't like being away from her for more than a minute, especially now that they were back at Bel Hall. He'd acted like he was going to just step outside for a moment, then come right back, but he wasn't back.

Something was wrong.

She sat her cup of minty tea down and rose. pausing, listening. Voices...low and just outside. One of them was Ben's, the other...? Then a feeling like ice was cascading down her spine made her walk uncertainly to a window on the side of the kitchen and peep out curiously.

Oh dear God. It couldn't be!

She gasped, drew back as if she'd been stung by a wasp. Forsythe! He was _here_! Holding a gun on Ben! Good Lord, what to do! In the seconds that were passing almost as fast as her heart was racing, Felicity thought like mad. Her first instinct was to run and get someone, anyone! what could Maggie and two young, easily timid maids do? She didn't want them hurt any more than she wanted the mans he loved hurt. Of _course _Forsythe had come for her, but how had he known she was here? Oh, there wasn't time to think about that! She had to think of a way to keep Ben from being shot! Forsythe was no expert with a gun, but the lurching fear in Felicity's guts told her that he just might be insane enough to accomplish murder by a pistol.

_I've got to help Ben! I've got to end this once and for all! Prison is too lenient for Reginald Forsythe, not that he'd survive for very long in a cell, weakling that he is. No, he must be stopped, the only way he can be stopped for certain. _And then it hit her. She simply knew what to do. She looked around at the kitchen, half teary-eyed, half-frightened at what she was thinking, but at this moment, there was nothing else to do but carry out her instantaneous mad idea.

"Why, what is the matter, dear?" asked Maggie, just now noticing the panic and fearful thought process so obvious on Felicity's ashen pixie-face. "Are you taking ill?"

"Maggie, listen to me!" Felicity whispered shrilly, so she would not be heard outside the kitchen's open door. "And the both of you," she added, gesturing frantically to the maids. "Listen quickly and carefully. We're in danger in here!"

The two young maids gasped, hands flying up to their mouths. "Ssssh!" Felicity ordered, her spinning mind having never become so suddenly clear. "Maggie, please tell me there is a pistol in this kitchen somewhere!"

"Why, whatever do you mean? What is the danger-"

"Reginald Forsythe is here, and he is just outside, with a gun pointed at Ben! Now no one of us can get out of this kitchen without being seen, and the sun is beginning to go down. One of you needs to get into the house and get help. In order to do that, Forsythe must be distracted." She inhaled deeply, shakingly, terrified at what she was going to do. "_Is _there a pistol in this kitchen?"

Maggie swallowed uneasily and rose to her feet. "I-I do not think so, my dear, 'tis only a kitchen..."

Felicity gestured frantically. "Please Maggie, think! I know that when some of the groundskeepers have returned from hunting, they sometimes brought their birds in here to be plucked for cooking. Some of them even left their pistols in here because they were too tired to put them up. Are there any guns left in here by them?" Her terrified green eyes looked up and around at the kitchen equipment hanging from the ceiling or hung from nails on the walls. "I have to act fast!"

Outside, Ben was still standing his ground.

"I think you'd better do what I say, rebel, before I shoot you dead _before _I had originally planned to!" Forsythe stepped forward with his gun trembling in his weak hands. "I have a better idea! Call her!"

"Call her what?"

Reginald grimaced angrily. "Do not jest with me, Davidson! You know what I mean! Call Felicity out here! I want her, now. Get her out here!"

Ben did not move. "I cannot do that, Forsythe. I cannot allow you to hurt her ever again."

"What I do with my wife is none of your concern! No one leaves me! Do you understand, I forbid it! By law she is my wife and I shall have her _now_!"

His words riled the fiercest rage Ben had ever felt in his life, but still he did not do anything. He kept his voice low and calm, albeit irate. Kept his hands up, fighting the urge to grab for his gun just inside his cloak. He was trying to stall as long as possible. Someone had to come out of the manor any moment now, and see what was going on! Thank God Felicity was still inside the kitchen house, that way she couldn't-

"I said call to her! I shall give you five seconds, Davidson, and if you do not do as I order you to, I _will_-"

"I am here, Reginald." Felicity appeared around the corner of the kitchen house, her face pale but stoic, her cloak drawn completely together in front against the chill.

"My angel! You heard!" Forsythe's gun wavered a bit.

"Felicity, go back inside, don't come out here!" Ben said frantically, his composure slipping. "Please, go back!"

"Don't you dare, my sweet," Reginald warned. "Or I will shoot your father's fool apprentice right here and now. I really do not wish for you to see bloodshed before we return to Forsythe Manor."

"I am not going back to that hell-hole, Reginald," Felicity told him calmly, her whole air icy and distant.

"You _are _my wife, and you will do exactly as I say! I will not allow you to leave me!"

"Wrong. You are wrong about everything."

"Lissie! What are you doing?" Ben hissed in a frightened whisper as she advanced all the way to Ben's side.

She ignored Ben, slowly moved her arm to push his extended, protective one back down. "This is over, Reginald. It ends tonight. Now."

Ben immediately stepped in front of her, trying hard as hell to sheild her from Forsythe's gun. "Get behind me!"

"Move away from him, Felicity, do not make me shoot him in front of you!"

"You will not shoot him, Reginald," she said coolly, almost completely devoid of emotion.

"You are MY wife, damn you!" His hands were shaking quite uncontrollably.

"No, I'm not. Never have been, never will be. I am no one's property."

"Felicity, for the last time, if you do not move away from him I will kill him regardless-"

"No. He will not die. _You _will." And with that, Felicity's small woollen-gloved hand had slipped into Ben's cloak, grabbed his flintlock and whipped it out. She did it so fast that Ben didn't realize what she had done until she had yanked it out and shoved him aside with a hard push unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

"Felicity, no!" Ben yelled.

"If I cannot have you, then no man will!" Forsythe screamed. Both he and Felicity fired their guns at the same time; two loud bangs that echoed all around the estate of Bel Hall simultaneously. Both he and Felicity fell, Reginald to the side and Felicity after she'd cried out and staggered back. Ben whirled and cried out in horror as well, dropping to Felicity's side immediately.

"No! Felicity, no! Oh God, this cannot be happening! SOMEONE HELP US!" Ben screamed at the top of his lungs.

Maggie came running out of the kitchenhouse like her rump was on fire. She saw Forsythe on the ground, then Felicity, with a weeping Ben crouching over her, and gasped aloud. People were running from the house; Lazlo, the duke, Constable Poon, Elizabeth, Arthur, and several house servants. The two maids who had remained inside the kitchen with Maggie had come scrambling out after the roundy older woman and now stood sniffing and staring in fright at Felicity and the motionless Lord Forsythe both laying on the ground.

"What the devil has happened out here?" Lord Eric yelled loudly, taking in the sight of the two shooting victims, one of which he realized was Felicity, whom Ben was going to pieces over quite loudly.

"Felicity!" squealed Elizabeth, her face becoming frozen in shock. She made to throw herself at Felicity's other side, but Arthur grabbed her quickly, for Lord Eric was striding to Felicity's other side already, kneeling across from Ben, who was holding the unconscious young lady's face in his hands and crying.

"No, dearest, let them see how bad it is first," Arthur told Elizabeth quietly, a lump in his throat. If Felicity was dead...No, he mustn't think it, Arthur thought frightfully. _Be strong for Elizabeth, for once!_

Elizabeth had lapsed into helpless sobs as she and Arthur stood near. Maggie had a hand to her own heart and said to Lord Eric, " 'Twas that horrible Lord Forsythe, lad", she told him tearfully. "The young man here stepped outside to see what was making some kind of sound, but he did not return right away. Then our young Miss went to see what was going on, and she saw that-that-_luatic _out here with a gun aimed at her fellow, and she-she-she had this plan...oh this is dreadful, absolutely _dreadful_!" Unable to help herself, Maggie lapsed into tears, fumbling with a hankie.

"So the little bastard was able to access my property," Eric muttered darkly, glancing at the still unmoving Forsythe, then turned his attention back to the still unmoving Felicity Merriman. Nearly conking heads with Ben, he leaned down over the girl, frowning and searching. He moved the cloak aside. In the fading light of the oncoming evening, it was nearly impossible to tell...

"Ben! Benjamin Davidson!" the duke ordered, trying to be heard over Ben's, Elizabeth's, _and _Maggie's sobbing. He reached across Felicity and gripped the shaking shoulder of the distraught young cavalry captain. "Stop that blubbering and look!"

The duke was grinning. Ben gaped at him incredulously, then looked to the part of Felicity's person Lord Eric was nodding at. Her cloak was open, revealing a thick, heavy cast-iron baking pan hanging about her slender neck by the leather strap it hung from on a nail on the kitchen wall! There was a concave dent in the cast-iron where it had stopped the bullet now embedded in it. The baking pan covered Felicity's front, all the way down to her lower stomach. So...if this heavy iron pan had stopped the bullet, that meant...

Felicity groaned softly, trying to come to. Ben gasped and Maggie and Elizabeth immediately stopped crying to stare with wide eyes. "Lissie!" Ben breathed in joyful astonishment as she coughed spasmically. Ben and Eric promptly began to sit her up, which required both of their efforts since she had gone limp and had that heavy baking pan hanging from her neck. Ben held to her supportively until Eric lifted the pan off of her, got its strap over her head, then he hugged her to him hard, pulling her legs across his lap and rocking her back and forth as he whispered emotional words of utter devotion to her, words that only a man crazy in love knew to say.

Eric inspected the cast-iron pan where he knelt. Maggie joined him. "Clever girl!" he mused aloud, smiling and shaking his head.

Elizabeth and Arthur rushed forward to knelt at Felicity and Ben, to touch her, place hands of warmth and unmeasureable relief upon her shoulders and arm. She was blinking uncertainly, trying to process what had just happened. One of her hands instinctively went to her lower stomach and felt.

"Owww," she moaned groggily, frowning.

"Lissie, sweetheart, are you hurt?" Ben asked with a quiver of worry in his voice. "Where are you hurt?"

Her voice was grumbly. "Feel like I've been kicked in the gut...by a mule. Am-am I bleeding anywhere?"

Both Ben and Elizabeth were quick to look her over, neck to stomach. There was a powdery smudge on the blue fabric of her dess, but no blood, not even a rip in the material. "No, love," Ben sighed with more relief than he'd ever felt in his life thus far. "You are not wounded, praise God."

She smiled a little, slyly. "Then it worked."

Ben swallowed uneasily, "Felicity, what were you thinking-"

"Wait, Ben. Is he dead?"

He knew who she meant right away. All eyes turned toward Reginald Forsythe's body, over which stood Lazlo and Constable Poon, the two of which were feeling for a pulse in the young lord's neck. Laz raised his head and looked at them in turn. "He's still alive. Heartbeat is weak...breathing is fading, so he seems to be dying. He's lost a considerable amount of blood from the shot to his chest." Laz looked at Felicity and half-smiled. "You're quite a shot, Miss!"

"Indeed!" agreed the constable, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

"Get me up," Felicity wheezed, beginning to move. "Hurry. I want to see him."

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip. "Really, Felicity, perhaps you shouldn't..."

"I'm fine, Beth. I need to do this. Ben, help me."

Ben wasn't about to argue. He could deny her nothing, never could. He was so thankful to God for Felicity's life that he wasn't about to protest anything she demanded. He helped her to her feet and held to her firmly as she walked unsteadily over to Forsythe's form. Laz and the constable had rolled him onto his back. Now that she and Ben were standing over the dying fop, they could see his chest heaving, the blotch of red getting bigger and bigger as it spread forth from the hole that Felicity's shot had made in the heart area. His face had turned grey, his eye lids fluttered uncontrollably.

One of his weakening hands had come up to his chest as if he were trying to grab at it.

"Reginald?" Felicity said, rather than just merely ask, as if she were addressing a child who's attention had wandered, "Reginald, I know you can hear me. Open you eyes, Reginald, and look at me."  
He made a short, breathless grunting sound and fluttered his eyelashes convulsively. The beady hazel eyes managed to open and fixate on her.

"I want you to see me, Reginald. I am with Ben. In spite of all that you have done to me, to my family, and to my friends, I am still alive and I am going to marry Ben and have the happy life that you tried to destroy. Ben and I are going to be married and I am going to give birth to many of his children one day. His and mine. I want you to understand that nothing can stop love from overcoming all odds. I want you to see that all of this was useless, Reginald, because the love that Ben and I share is stronger than your vile insanity."

Felicity felt Ben's forehead pressed to the side of her temple, so all she had to do was turn her head ever so slightly to meet his lips in a tender kiss.

On the ground, Reginald Forsythe's beady eyes grew wide. He suddenly spasmed crazily then went completely still, rigid, then at last death took him and he went limp, the hand that had attempted in vain to clutch at his chest fell to the side, and his eyes remained wide open and staring up.

Lord Covington ambled over to the staring constable and inquired, " Well, my friend, is there any point in making a case out of this?"

Felicity looked up at the constable and held her breath.

"After all," Lord Eric said with a brilliant grin, "I _am _a duke: I _can _make life very difficult for you."

Constable Poon nodded, a half-smile upon his face. "Without a doubt, your grace. Quite actually, I see no crime having been commited here. In my opinion, justice was served." He nodded to Felicity, who was breathing a sigh of relief right along with Ben. "You're free, young Miss."

Elizabeth stepped back over to Felicity and hugged her confidently, then Arthur hugged her, then finally Ben, who did more than just squeeze her thin frame, but proceeded to sweep her feet off the ground as he kissed her cheek loudly. Eveyone seemed to breathe immense sighs of relief, as though a great weight had been lifted from the entire place, not just its inhabitants.

Lord Eric strolled back over to Ben and Felicity and beamed joyfully for them. "I am pleased to see that your nightmare is finally over, my dear! And you know what? I do believe a celebration of sorts is in order. The timeing is perfect- justice has been served, you will soon be going home to reunite with your family, then soon to be married if all goes well with the both of you, _I _would like to welcome my son home _and _celebrate your happiness by hosting a ball! What say you to that?"

"A ball!" exclaimed Elizabeth delightedly, clasping Arthur's arm. "How wonderful!"

Felicity was still in Ben's amorous clutches, for he refused to put her down on her feet. "That would be...well, splendid, your grace, but other than for your son's home-coming I feel that it would be a little too-"

"Oh nonsense!" Eric said, his words matching Maggie's expression. "We have all been in a state of melancholy for all sorts of reasons for quite some time! I grow weary of it. My son is coming home, and you, my young friends, have come to the end of quite a bit of suffering! If those two reasons alone are not reason enough for a party, I do not know what else is!"  
_But Lettie is still not found, _Felicity thought forlornly, but she could not refuse the duke's enthusiasm and joy, for it was very contagious, and he had been most kind to her. "But my lord, we are not prepared for such a thing-none of us came here expecting a ball."

"Looking for a reason to hang on to your gloom, Miss Merriman?" Eric taunted playfully. "I'll wager you will not be successful in _that _endeavor, for there are gowns aplenty in the chests of my fair Evangeline!"

Felicity gasped. "Your Grace! Lady Evangeline's gowns? Oh, I am not worthy, they are too fine-!"

"Can you not shush?" Eric inquired, grinning broadly. "They are not doing anyone a bit of good lying in darkness where they are, unworn and sentenced to fade from beauty. I will hear no more protest. You and Miss Cole are free to chose from Evangeline's things as you see fit. I do believe the both of you sport as appealing a figure as my Eve did, if you'll pardon my saying so. Maggie will assist you in choosing whatever gowns fit your fancies."

Both Felicity and Elizabeth blushed crimson.

"And as for you two lads," the duke said to Ben and Arthur, "I do believe that between Laz and I, we have clothing to suit _your _tastes as well. There is no reason for anyone to shun this party!" He lifted his chin nobly, smiling victoriously over the matter. "Because I am the duke-"

"And you could make life very difficult for those who oppose you," finished Felicity, grinning irresistibly.

"Exactly."

"How novel!" declared Arthur Pratt, his blue eyes dancing. "I have been absolutely _itching _to try that maze, your grace-"

"The maze!" Eric turned toward the gardens, suddenly inspired. " What an excellent notion, Mr. Pratt! 'Tis been years since I've had a gala where the guests could attempt to get through the maze! Why, the last time there was such a thing, Evangeline posted a prize to be won for the first couple who made it through!"

"Er, would that not make you sad?" Felicity inquired uncertainly.

Eric chuckled softly, sentimentalism in his eyes. "Oh goodness no, my dear. The time for sadness is past. I know Eve would want me to be happy and look after our son, as well as my guests. She loved a good party more for the chance to provide happiness for her friends than for the primping and preening that goes into it. No, Felicity, this will be a happy occasion. I know she would approve."

When he said it, Felicity believed him and was glad of it, for she had long been feeling the opposite of herself as well. 'Twas draining to the soul to be down-hearted and angry all of the time. She was finally feeling a need to _try _at least to regain her former self. If she could not, or refused to even try, then Reginald Forsythe would truly have dominion over her once more, even from beyond the grave. She hadn't noticed that Lazlo and one of the groundskeepers had removed Forsythe's lifeless body until she happened to glance over at the spot where he had lain. And good riddance!

"No, your grace, I do not see how we could refuse," she admitted with a smile that made Ben Davidson's heart soar.

"Well then, 'tis settled!" Lord Eric clapped Constable Poon on the shoulder as everyone began to move indoors. "Now you and your wife _will _attend this ball of mine, won't you, Constable?"

"I am quite sure I can manage," replied with a laugh.

Eric looked back at Maggie. "Maggie, dear, will you please see to it that Miss Merriman is indeed well? That was quite a punch to her stomach there, and I would rest easier knowing she was completely sound."

"Of course!" Maggie made shooing gestures at Ben. "Just you take the young lady to her room, young man, and leave us be so that I can examine her."

"Oh Maggie, really, I'm fine!" Felicity protested.

"So you say. But you _are _in the clutches of your fellow here..."

"Ben is carrying me because I cannot stop him from doing so." She looked at Ben and couldn't help but smile.

"That's right, pretty Lissie. You cannot rid yourself of me. Consider my carrying you a favor to your tired feet."

"My feet are not tired!"

"Of course they are," Ben told her, winking. "You just do not know it yet."

"To her room, please, ," Maggie ordered, shaking her head at the silliness of young love. But she grinned because that silliness was a rare and divine feeling.

Ben carried her all the way inside, up the stairs and to her room-_their _room, as he thought of it- where he sat her down on their bed and stood back, looking down at her uncertainly. "I can stay if you want me to," he offered hopefully.

"No, Ben, I'm fine, truly. Maggie will look me over and then you can come back in."

"That is right," agreed Maggie, in her stern, motherly fashion. "Now shoo!"

Ben's mouth twisted in torn consideration. "Well...I will be just outside the door if you need me, Lissie. I won't be far away."

It would have been easy for her to scold him, to criticize him being overly-protective and worrying over nothing, but she didn't. His relentless attentions were actually satisfying. He was still drowning in guilt over the way he had treated her all those months ago, but how could she blame him for that? He _knew _he had done her wrong, he _knew _he was guilty; it would be unforgivable if he didn't. She found herself still wanting to hold on to her anger, just a little while longer, but every moment spent alone with him softened her heart more and more. He wanted to make things right between them, wanted to atone for his actions, which was good.

But Felicity wanted him to be uncertain of her just a _wee _bit longer.

She smiled at him tolerantly. "I know, Ben. It will not take long."

He gave her a longing look, glanced at Maggie, then shuffled out as slowly as he could, even closing the door behind him slowly as well. Hoping that she would call him back, no doubt. She chuckled to herself. Then she winced. Oh, her stomach did hurt like it had been punched! How did soldiers ever endure being shot? She had an extremely heavy cast-iron pan between her and a death-bullet, but that had still winced, putting a hand against her belly.

"Let me help you get that dress off, dearie, and we'll have a look at your stomach to make sure ye aint hurt too bad." Maggie reached behind her to start on her laces.

"I know I'm not bleeding, because there is not blood on my clothes, but it just feels like I've been kicked by a cow!"

Maggie paused. "Ye've been kicked by a cow before?"

"Oh no, I just meant-ow, it hurts to laugh! 'Twas an exaggeration."

"Ah, so I see. I was beginning to imagine what sort of situation a girl could be in to get herself kicked by a cow!"

Felicity snorted. She stood up to step out of her dress and petticoat, then Maggie pulled down the bed covers, so that Felicity could pull her shift up and use the bed sheets to cover her lower self with, leaving her stomach exposed. After a few minutes of staring up at the ceiling as Maggie felt gently around the sore area of her stomach, Felicity swallowed and asked, "So am I in need of a doctor?"

"As far as I can tell, no. Ye've got yourself a wholesome bruise started there, but there's no broken skin. I can make you up a salve for the bruise tonight. _I _would be more concerned with how bony ye've gotten! By rights, I ought to bake you a cake, sit you down in front of it, an' make you sit there until ye eat every crumb of it!" She pulled Felicity's shift back down over her stomach. "You can get up now, dear."

The two women heard a rather forced cough right outside the door. Ben apparently wanted them to remember that he was still out there, waiting. Maggie rolled her eyes. "That young man of yours hovers more than a bee!"

"I don't mind," Felicity said with a touch of smugness in her voice. "He has a lot of hovering to make up for."

"Puttin' him through his paces, eh?"

"Exactly."

"Good for you, dearie." She handed Felicity her dress and petticoats back. "Ye want some help getting laced back up?"

"No thank you, Maggie. Send Ben back in, he'll be glad to!"

"If'n he aint worn a hole in His Grace's oriental carpeting!" Maggie and Felicity laughed a little, only to hear Ben call through the door, "Is she all right?"

The two women guffawed. Felicity got up again and stepped back into her dress. "Please, send him back in before he _does _wear a hole in His Grace's fine oriental carpet!"

Just as soon as Maggie opened the door, Ben was there, ready to step inside. The older woman had to put a hand up to stop him from running right into her. "Just you calm yourself down, lad! The young miss is fine. She is going to have a nasty bruise on her belly for a while, but that in time will fade, as all good bruises do. You just behave and treat her gently!"

Ben blushed intensely and gulped. "But I'm not-that is, Felicity and I are not-I would _never_-"

"So see to it that you don't!" Maggie ordered, her pointy finger aimed at him threateningly. "The duke may be lenient when it comes to young lovers, but I am not! Don't ye be doing anything matrimonial while you're still un-wedded!"

"Yes ma'am. I mean, no ma'am, I won't."

Maggie favored him with a skeptical look, even though she sidled past him out into the hall. "Supper will be late, but it will still _be_. I expect to see you both downstairs shortly."

"Yes ma'am." Ben still looked like he'd been caught with his fingers in the pie, but when he heard felicity snicker wickedly, he grinned, shut the door behind him as he quickly came in, and all but leaped onto the bed beside her, his enthusiasm as uncontained as his relief that she was all right. He immediately reached for her, pulling her into a manic embrace so hard that Felicity could feel _his _heart beaitng against _her _chest.

"Ben, you're squishing me..."

"I know, I know!" He kissed her temple good and hard, then drew back to gaze at her. "What were you thinking, my Lissie, coming out of the kitchen like that?"

She shrugged indifferently. "That this had to end, and had to this hour. And I was thinking that I could not let him shoot you."

"Even if I deserved it?"

"Ben, I was _not _thinking that you 'deserved it.' "

"I was." Her sounded serious then, looking at her with emotional brown eyes.

Felicity sighed tolerantly and took his face into her hands. "If it will make you feel any better, I insist that no one has a right to discipline you but _me_."

He smiled, a little humbly. "Aye. That makes me feel loads better." He held her gloved hands to his chest. "But Lissie, how did you know that he would shoot you?"

"Because I know him. _Knew _him, rather. Reginald was in a situation where he no longer had anything to lose. He could be as reckless and insane as he dared to be. I just sensed that he wanted a final end to all of this just as much as I did, only his version of the end was much different than mine." She shrugged again. "He was desperate. As much as I hate to say it, I know what that feels like, to want a horrible situation to end so bad that you don't care how it ends just as long as it does." Her gaze fell to her still sore wrists. "That is how those cuts came to be."

"Oh Lissie, my beautiful girl," Ben murmured, drawing her to him again, this time alying the both of them down on their sides facing one another. He stroked her cheek with a firm, affectionate hand. "I could have lost you tonight! He could've killed you! Killed _us_. There would be no life for me without you!"

"I really wish you would stop saying things like that," she told him sleepily all of a sudden.

" 'Tis true!"

"I'll wager that ten years from the time we are married you will be thinking otherwise."

"So you _will _marry me?" Joyful hope made his heart start racing again.

Felicity rolled her eyes and grinned uncontrollably. "Guess I'll have to now, just to prove my point!"

"I can tell you right now that I could and will _never _tire of you, Felicity Davidson, not now, not ever! I've had my sights set on you even before I joined the Army, and now that both of our wars are over, I am going to fulfill my destiny and make you my wife!" When she did not reply right away, he studied her face, her gentle smile and weary eyes, then added, "Dont you see yet that we were mean to be man and wife, Lissie? We were bonded as youngsters so that our destinies would be made clear to us as we got older, as we were separated those five years. Our love has survived war, interference by those who prefer us torn apart, even survived my own stupidity! If we can survive all of that, then it is all too clear!"

"But Ben, what if you feel differently after we have been married for awhile? What if you realize that it was just in the heat of the moment? That despite loving me as a friend, all you felt otherwise was only lust? I fear that you will wish you had given yourself the chance to court other girls. To explore your options. And then you will grow to hate me for being the woman you ended up chained to for the rest of your life, because divorce is unacceptable."

"Lord God, Lissie, I would never think any of that!" He raised his head and looked at her with such worry and surprise that it made her bite her lip. "I know I have given you ample reason to not trust me, but time will show you that I mean what I say. I mean what I pledge to you! Nothing has ever been so clear to me in my life! Loing you and taking you for my wife is as clear to me as my own name. You can trust in me again, Lissie. You'll see." After a moment he asked worriedly, "Are you thinking that you will have made a mistake in marrying _me_?"

"No, Ben," she said softly, pulling him back down and close to her. "I know that I will love being your wife for always. I just fear _fate_. It has not been kind to us lately, you know. I fear that anything that seems to be too good to be true, well, _is_."

Feeling a little more reassured, he settled back down beside her, holding her close as if he dared the universe itself to try and take her away from him. "Time will ease your worries, pretty Lissie. You will find your way back to yourself again and see that our future will be wonderful, just as we had imagined it. It is all right that you do not have faith right now. I understand. I have faith for the both of us. Forsythe is dead and gone now. Our future belongs to _us _once again, and forever this time. You will see."

Laying so snug in his tight embrace made Felicity feel as if he just might be right. There would be no one to come between then ever again. But she still did not trust fate. She was certain that she would be unable to trust the future until the moment a preacher pronounced them husband-and-wife before God amidst all of their family and friends. She wanted to trust Ben's prophetic words so badly.

Ben was right about one thing, though: only time would tell.


	31. Chapter 31:A Position Proposition

Felicity:An American Girl ROMANCE, PT3, CH31:A Position Proposition

Lord Covington all but begged his young guests to stay and enjoy the ball. Of course they all agreed without much hesitation, for Eric had indeed been a gracious host, once a lonely man who had been in mourning for three years and in desperate need of a reminder that he still had a life to live, and a son in need of a father. The invitations went out. Felicity, Ben, Elizabeth and Arthur were most willing to stay another week, which the crew of the duke's one available ship would receive pay for on account of the added delay (and the crew did not mind, for 'twas well known that the duke was a man of his word). Lord Eric welcomed his son home with wide open arms. Young Thomas was most happy to be back in his father's arms, in the home he had missed. The five year old was eager to meet new people and didn't mind at all being introduced to the four American Colonists, especially the one with red hair that called him 'Little Duke' and looked like a forest fairy without the wings.

He rather liked that.

Ben was as relentless as ever in his quest to remain by Felicity's side at all times, in constant physical contact with her. It had not escaped _anyone's _attention that he could not keep his hands off of her no matter how hard he tried to be discreet about it: an arm about her waist, a hand upon her back, one hand holding hers beneath the tablecloth or at least resting upon her arm, standing behind her with his arms about her. Stolen kisses when he thought no one was looking or when he didn't _care _if anyone was looking. Holding her often so close that she could not move without bumping him constantly.

Yet Felicity did not complain, not even when Elizabeth just happened to get a moment alone with her sorely missed best friend long enough to say, "Surely Ben is wearing upon your nerves, Lissie! He certainly is mine! How can you breathe with him practically _on _you all of the time?"

Felicity just smiled at her exasperated friend and looked mischievous

"That Ben is certainly a randy fellow, is he not?" commented Arthur as well. "But it _is _almost spring, the time when a young man's thoughts turn to those of fancy- or in this case, those of _Felicity_!"

Still Felicity just grinned as Maggie and Arthur haw-hawed and Elizabeth shook her head in annoyance.

What Felicity did not tell them was that Ben actually _was _getting on her nerves, just not to the extent they imagined. She found his constant attentions pleasing and sensual, his constant gazing at her as if he were undressing her with his quietly smouldering brown eyes quite playful. For the past few nights alone in their room, he'd been a perfect gentleman, though, holding her tight, nearly smothery but yet it was okay.

He'd been having nightmares about her.

She had been woken several times by his distraught movements beside her, his labored breathing and uttering her name as if she was being taken away from him and he was helpless to do anything about it. When she woke him he would hug her tight and nearly cry into her ear that he could never live without her, that he loved her so much that he felt as though his very heart would burst.

Felicity would stroke his long brown hair and lay back down with him, his head in the bend of her neck and her body encased in his death grip. He'd have dreams about Forsythe killing her, shooting her down and her _not _having a big cast-iron baking pan to protect herself with. He whispered that there was blood everywhere, her blood, and he had just wanted to die, too.

His words and his shaking moved her. In the faint light of the low fire in their room, he looked at her with somber eyes of pure love and devotion and told her that she was his life and to lose her would be the death of him. She believed him. No one could fake nightmares such as his.

But yet there were the annoying times, though they were not so bad. More comical than anything. He followed her everywhere she went, afraid that something would happen to her, like she was made of fragile glass and would break into a thousand pieces. She would literally have to put a halt to his trailing: "Ben, I need a private moment, all right?"

"Of course! I'll go with you."

"Chamber pot, Ben."

"Oh. I'll wait just outside.":

"I know you will, Ben."

And he did just that, despite calling through the door, "Are you all right? Will you be much longer?"

'Twas times like that when she was nearly at her wits' end. But when she would come out of the room, he'd grin at her sheepishly, his cheeks red and his whole entire body tense with the excitement of getting close to her again physically, and she'd melt like butter on a hot biscuit.

At least he'd stopped trying to carry her everywhere she wanted to go.

The evening before the gala, both Felicity and Elizabeth had gone upstairs for nice hot baths. For the first time in along time Felicity was actually able to catch her breath and try to ease back into peace and stillness. She and Elizabeth luxuriated in bathing tubs set side by side before the crackling fire in Felicity's chambers, collar-bone deep in suds, carrying on conversations as if no time had passed. As if Elizabeth had not over-reacted that fateful morning when their lives had been torn apart.

"Oh, Lissie, were those not the most _beautiful _gowns you have ever seen!" Elizabeth sighed dreamily, referring to the time they had just spent 'shopping' in Lady Evangeline's wardrobes.

"Indeed! She was the most beautiful woman that ever lived!" replied Felicity with just as dreamy a sigh, referring to the portrait of the late duchess upon the wall in Her Lady's chambers. "I feel rather guilty having gawked at all of her lovely things they way I did." She laid her head back against the rim of her bathing tub and let the warm water dissolve her tensions.

"I know, as did I. But the look on her face in her painting was very gracious. I believe the duke is right; she would not want her beautiful things to go to waste. She has the kindest eyes of any painted person _I've _ever seen."

"I agree- and the most unique. Violet eyes! I have never seen someone with violet eyes before!" Felicity marvelled, as Elizabeth nodded. After a moment Felicity asked, "So, have you decided what dress you would like to wear tomorrow night?"

Elizabeth sighed half-contentedly, half-decisively. "I do believe I shall choose the green one. The velvet over the silk is so lovely! And the white lace trim is so delicate and light, 'tis almost like falling snow!"

"That's a good choice, Beth. You look perfect in green."

"Why, thank you! And what about you? Have you made a choice yet?"

Felicity gazed into the fire, her mouth crinkling as it usually did when she was in deep thought. "I think I have whittled my choice down to two: The blue and gold, or the white with the red rose pattern all over it. What do you think?"

"Oooo, Lissie, those are splendid choices!" Elizabeth gave her an approving grin. "You will look like a duchess yourself in either one!"

Felicity smiled, a modest look in her green eyes. "It will be nice, I suppose, to be all dressed up and playing the part of the mysterious guest...but I feel uncomfortable attending a fine party when my family is at home across the ocean, worried about me so much."

Elizabeth reached over and patted her friend's arm consolingly. "You said the duke himself wrote to your family, right? That was weeks ago. Perhaps your mother and father have received the letter and know now that you are safe and sound and in the protective custody of an actual _duke_!"

"I had considered that," Felicity admitted curiously."But I have not written them myself, Beth. I do not know what to say. I really do not feel like writing in detail about everything that has happened. I would feel more at ease about it if I were home where I could be surrounded by everyone...maybe then. But I just feel so...isolated."

"Well you are definitely _not _alone, Felicity Merriman," Elizabeth reminded her confidently. "You have me and Arthur, and that guardian wolf-hound of yours named Ben, who is without a doubt prowling the hall outside waiting for you to finish your bath!"

Felicity smiled wider.

"Once he sees you in one of those fine gowns he is going to be all over you like a rash." She sounded more annoyed than excited. "Not that you _need _to be in a fancy ball gown for _that _to happen. I had hoped that once we found you he would calm down and be a gentleman, especially in the home of a duke, of all places, but he seems to be constantly _at _you, all of the time! How can you stand it?"

"He's feeling guilty, Beth. He is sorry for the way he treated me that day. At first i was angry with him for being so nice and attentive and loving. But then if he wasn't sorry, I'd be even angrier. I'm sick of being angry all the time. So I just let him do as he will and hope that he truly does love me. I shall see."

Elizabeth considered that and said, "Both Arthur and I do believe that Ben loves you more than his next breath of air. I understand that he feels so guilty- I do, too, Lissie, more than the English language can permit me to say! But I do wish he would just calm down now!"

Felicity giggled softly. "I don't."

The girls looked at each other and laughed. They both realized in that moment that they had taken another step closer to rebuilding the relationship they had once shared, before the whole horrible situation had started. It was nice to finally feel that something good was emerging out of a nightmare that was finally getting its end.

* * *

Elizabeth grew tired and nearly fell asleep in her tub, so she rinsed off and got out to dry, put on her shift and robe and go to bed. Felicity stull had warm water in hers, so she soaked a bit longer, nearly falling to sleep herself. It was getting late, so she rinsed and stepped out, grabbing the drying sheet off the stool beside her tub. But she had just gotten the long sheet up to her neck when the door to their chamber swung open.

She gasped, clutching the sheet to her damp body as Ben stood there, staring in awe. Felciity gulped, held to her drying sheet with white-knuckled hands.

"Ben you scared me!"

It took him a moment to find his voice, mostly because he was looking her up and down. Her bath sheet covered her front completely, but her back side was completely uncovered. He seemed to be very aware of that fact as he gazed at her steadily. "Sorry about that."

"Yes, well, if you will just step back out for a minute or two, I can get dress-"

"No."

"Now Ben, really-"

"No. I mean, I'm not going back out. I'm staying right here." He did sound _quite _determined.

She made an exasperated sound. "But I'm perfectly fine! I just got out of the bath, but I need to get dressed so that I do not catch my death of the cold!"

"I won't let you get sick," he murmured stepping closer, brown eyes flicking over her. In only the light of the fire he looked sensually dangerous, all long and lean, sinewy and quiet. "I want to see you."

"You can look at me all you want after I get dressed, and I cannot do _that _unless you step back outside!"

"That's not what I meant, Lissie. Move the sheet away. I want to see you. _All _of you." She gaped at him when he said that, not knowing whether to yell or get angry, just vaguely aware that her knees had begun shaking. "After all, 'tis only fair."

"What do you mean?" she demanded nervously.

"I know you remember that day you were bringing me hot chocolate in a mug and you walked in on me when I was getting out of the bath."

Felicity felt herself turn hot from face to foot, an entire body-blush that could not be concealed even in the meagre firelight. He had closed the door and locked it, then taken another step closer. Her heart was beginning to race. "Now _that _was purely by accident, Ben! You _knew _I was having a bath in here tonight, and you came in deliberately!"

"I will not deny it, my beauty," Be said softly, his smile slanting. "Once we are married we will see each other unclothed on a regualr basis. You have already seen me undressed. Now I want to see _you_."

Felicity raised her chin defiantly and smiled challengingly. "And what makes you think I am going to just drop this sheet simply because you want to have a pre-nuptual tour of me in my undressed state?"

Ben's breathing had gotten labored as he continued to look her up and down slowly, hungrily. "I don't. I was just hoping..."

"Well I'm not, you know. Now just turn around and march your randy self right back out, _Captain _Davidson." She was smiling still as she said it, her green eyes daring him to defy her.

"I'm sorry. I can't do that. You're enchanting me, Felicity Merriman. I've never seen you like this before." His wandering gaze finally met hers and held as he came up to her, trying obviously to control himself and his breathing. He was so close to her that she could feel the heat of his body even through her bath sheet. He moved closer still, his hands placing themselves gently upon her hips, which were half covered by the long cotton sheet.

Felicity held his eyes steadily for a moment, willing herself to not show her own anxiety over him being close to her like this and her not even being dressed. After he had come home from the war, this was the kind of scenario she'd daydreamed about being caught in with him. Now it was really happening, after all that she had endured and having believed she would never see him again. She didn't know if letting her guard down at this moment was a good idea or not: she just couldn't think when he was being sensual like this. Sleeping in his tight embrace at night was one thing. Standing here with only a sheet to cover her front with was a completely different thing!

"I've done nothing of the sort!" she protested, although lighty. There was something satisfying in seeing him reduced to this trance-like helplessness. Something powerful she felt in having this kind of effect on him. It dawned on her that _she _was the one in control here, _she _was the one who could will anything to happen or not.

Question was, what did she want to happen?

"I beg to differ," Ben murmured, his voice having gone husky. He was so close that his forehead was nearly touching hers. His hands still upon her hips, he pulled her lower half as close to him as he could. She was sorely tempted to remove at least one of her own hands from her death-grip on the sheet to touch his hair, but she wanted to see what he would do first. Bells and whistles were going off in her mind, quickly bringing to her attention the fact that she _wanted _physical contact with him. She _wanted _him to touch her. The 'where' and the 'how' of it, though, remained unanswered.

"I have loved you forever, Felicity," he continued in his spell-bound manner. "I cannot believe that I was so horrible to you that morning. 'Twas like I was a different person. I want to say that it was not me who said those horrible things to you and just left you there..."

Now she did remove a hand from the sheet, keeping only one fist balled full of it at her chest as she touched her fingertips to his lips and silenced him gently. "I want to get past it, Ben. I believe that I can more and more, every passing day, but you have got to let me think. I cannot think with you so close..I cannot think at all when you are saying such sweet things to me like you are." She closed her eyes as his face came so very near. "N-Not when you are doing this..."

He kissed her hard and hungrily, his tongue plunging into her mouth in full, firm sweeps. His hold on her hips tightened and her body responded of its own accord, pressing to him for more of that incredible sensation she had no name for yet, because physical intimacy of this sort was still so new to her. Her free hand held his muscled jaw as he worked her mouth with gulping kisses over and over. She had the sensation of tingly heat washing over her, obliterating all thought and awareness and leaving only an intense _need _she'd never felt before. Her legs felt like they had turned to pudding.

_You are the one in control here, _she reminded herself urgently. _Do you want him to make love to you here and now, because if you do not stop him you will be returning to Williamsburg with a gigantic belly_. Immediately Felicity drew back, panting just as much as he was, her hand falling to his chest, which was rising and falling quickly with the excitement of his breathing. His lusty, heavy-lidded eyes were dark brown in the firelight as he gazed at her, wondering why she had stopped. She caught her own breath just barely.

"Ben, we cannot do this. I told you why. I'm not ready to be pregnant. You know that."

After a moment he sighed, relenting. "I know. I remember. It's just so hard sometimes, especially when a man desires a woman as I do you. You are everything I want in life, all I desire. There is nothing else." He made to kiss her again, but she pushed gently against him, resisting.

"You think that I do not feel the same way? I _do _want to be with you, Ben, in that very special way. But not here. Not now." She eyed him slyly, testing him. "I _will _remind you that if you require a woman that badly, society will not condemn you for seeking out a woman of ill repute to be intimate with, you know."

He shook his head seriously. "But I would condemn _myself_, as if I would stoop to such a loathsome level. And I will remind _you _that I do not want that special physical connection with any woman but you. I will wait. I have you back now, safe and alive. I can wait a little longer. But upon our wedding night, I shall hold back no longer, will be my wife in every way, and I shall have you in every way a man can have his woman."

A spiriling, trickling sensation of thrill and wicked excitement coursed down her spine, making her actually laugh out loud. "Very well. We both can agree that I have been warned."

"But I cannot just stand here and ignore how intoxicating you are. Your hair all wet like that, the rest of you so...damp." He moved to her neck, half-kissing, half-sucking upon the hyper-sensitive flesh of her neck, making her utter an uncontrollable sound from her throat. Her free hand clutched his head, absently yanking the ribbon that held his hair back loose and dropping it to the floor. She loved seeing him with his hair loose; it fed some wild, secret fantasy that she had started having of him after he'd returned from the fighting.

"You like that, pretty Lissie?" he asked huskily, moving his eager mouth to her collarbone, where he ran his tongue over the hollow where the bones met, making her shiver with a pleasure that rocked her head to toe.

Yesss," she hissed intensely, grabbing his shoulder as his hands began moving up the sides of her still damp body, over her ribs then over her back as he went back to exploring her neck with hard demanding kisses that sent heat spreading all over her skin. One of his exploratory hands went to her lower back and stopped, holding her to him firmly. Her bare backside tightened with anticipation of feeling his bold touch move further down. But instead he put a great amount of attention on her neck and shoulders, skimming her flesh with his teeth, lightly scraping. She gasped softly, wanting more.

Then he made a bold move, but one she had becomed accustomed to in recent days; he scooped her up in his arms, held her tightly to himself as he took her to the bed and laid her down on it. For a moment he stood there, gazing down at her in wonder, then he sat down beside her and leaned over her snugly.

"There is so much love in me for you, Felicity, that sometimes I cannot contain it, it just slips out. I want to show you how I feel. make you feel the same things I do when the thoughts of you just get to me so that I have to..." He smiled shyly, tracing her collarbone with explorative fingers. "Ah, well, you'll find out soon enough."

"When we are married, you mean?" She suggested, looking up at him playfully.

"Of course. Maybe before that, if the opportunity presents itself." He grinned.

There was a glimmer of the adolescent Ben she knew when she was just eleven years old, before he left for the war. Shy and modest, but yet this grown-up Ben had all of the moves and the drive of a man in need. In need of her. He was just so handsome and appealing to her at that moment that she could not help herself from taking the back of his head in her free hand and pulling his face down to hers for more kissing.

And he responded immediately, shifting so that he could lay on his side beside her and stroke her neck sensuously as they kissed slower but just as deeply as before. This time his wandering fingers trailed down her chest just to the top of the sheet that she still had balled up in a fist. Her body reacted to his touch of its own accord, turning towards him eagerly. His hand skimmed over her balled fist gently, then down and back up her arm. The sensations he was causing to fire up inside her were about to get the better of her, too! His kissing intensified to where Felicity had a comical mental image that he was devouring her mouth with his. She arched up against him just slightly and immediately felt his hard body lowering to hers.

They really should be stopping, Felicity thought, but Ben's touch felt so good and his kissing like delicious fire! How could they? His roving hand moved down her side, around her lower back, then down to her backside. She stiffened for a moment, mid-kiss, her fingers tightening in his hair, for _no one _had ever touched her rear end before, especially in such a..._grab_! He rubbed, kneaded firmly, groaned against her mouth at how good she felt, so soft yet firm, appealing to every erotic curiosity he'd ever had from since he had been awakened to such things. His mounting enthusiasm was spurred on by his own blazing belief that she belonged to _him, _and no one else. He marvelled how exquisite and perfect the half of her tight little rump he was clutching filled his hand, like this particulare part of her body was just made for his touch.

As she opened her mouth wider to accommodate his intense, gulping tongue, he released her buttocks and felt his way down the outside her thigh, the knee of which came up obligingly for attention as well. She was writhing against him longingly, needfully, wanting more, not thinking of consequences anymore. This was pleasure like she'd never known, to be touched so intimately tus far and like it! The urge to just let go and give in to her body's demands was almost too much to bear.

But it was when his mischevious hand bagan moving toward her inner thigh that her eyes flew open and she broke their tight mouth-to-mouth contact. "Ben! We can't!" she gasped, stiffening again.  
Ben breathed shakily and drew back, panting hard. He ran an equally shaking hand through his hair, looked at her laying there, nearly completely beneath him with just her thin bath sheet separating him from all that he desired to see. But even that in itself seized him in such a fit of need that he was suddenly springing off the side of the bed, scrambling for something Felicity coudln't see. "Oh God," he muttered tightly, disappearing from her view at the side of the bed.

She sat up quickly, clutching the sheet tight to herself. "Ben, what is the matter? What are you do-"

"No don't!" he gasped from where he was on the floor beside the bed. "S-Stay where you are..." Felicity heard him inhale sharply, groan raggedly, then there was a ound like the chamber pot had been shoved away. The entire bed quivered as he leaned against it like he had just been drained of all strength abruptly. Felicity could not see what he was doing, or what he had _done_, but she had a fairly good idea of what had happened, and she swallowed anxiously.

"Are you all right?" she asked carefully.

He heaved a long sigh, breathing now as if he was just calming down form running a foot race. "Uh...Yes. I am now...I think."

Felicity took a chance on asking what she assumed just happened with him. "Did you _spill_?"

"Aye," he mumbled wearily.

Then Felicity, of all things, grinned. She gathered her bath sheet close about her and scooted across the bed to where he was leaning against the side of it, his back to her, and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, hugged him comfortingly. "Sorry."

"What have _you _got to be sorry for? I am the one who caused this to happen." He actually lightly chuckled, "All you did was warn me...as you laid there looking more beautiful than I ever dreamed."  
"I just do not want to be pregnant before we are married, that's all."

"I know. I understand. It's just so damn hard to resist you, Lissie."

"Then allow me to make a proposition. How about we just go to bed? Sleep. You just sit where you are, I shall put on my shift and robe, and then we'll sleep like the blessed dead. And we shall position ourselves so that we are snug and warm. I am spent, too, you know." She thought about her words and then giggled softly."Well, I meant 'spent' as in 'tired', not 'spent' like you are...oh, you know."

His hands rubbed her arms that hung about his neck. "Aye, I know, pretty Lissie. What I'm wondering is, how can you stand me? I honestly do not deserve you, girl. I love you." He kissed her arms warmly. He didn't need to be looking at her to know that she was smiling. He just knew.

Ben did indeed remain seated on the floor where he was while Felicity quickly dressed and put on her robe. Then she got back on the bed and reached for him, taking hold of his shirt collar and pulling him up-with his help, of course- onto the bed with her. He fell back on the bed like a rag doll and favored her with a sly smile. "I will confess, my beautiful bride, that I sorely missed being tempted into insanity by you. You are the sweetest torture a man can endure."

She snorted humorously as she used the bath sheet to dry her long damp hair. "If you say so. After what just happened with you, do you really want to get yourself worked up again?"

"Yes."

She laughed outrageously, shoving his shoulder with her nearest foot. "Hush your self and get up here with me. Tomorrow night is going to be here soon enough, so let's get some sleep, all right?"

Ben mumbled something about her wicked wiles, but at least he was grinning as he said so. He crawled up beside ehr, helped her turn the covers down, thn slipped in beside her so that he could get his arms around her once more and hold her as if his life depended on her closeness. he kissed her cheek and neck and settled down as much as he could, considering he was still in awe of having felt an intimate part of her anatomy that he considered to be his own personal property. Felicity probably would not like to hear him say that, he assumed, but he couldn't help the way he felt. She was his and he was hers.

He was determined that she would see that it went both ways.


	32. Chapter 32:Felicity's Intimate Party

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE: Pt3, Ch32: Felicity's Intimate Party

Bel Hall looked breathtaking, all lit up with candles in every possible manner of candle-holder, be it the brass and mirrored wall-sconces, the polished silver candelabras on the tables, or in the magnificent chandeliers hanging from the ceilings. There was light in the fireplaces as well. There were as many attendees as could fill a ball-room, but they were mostly people Lord Eric held in the highest regard, including his late wife's family and the Babcocks, good friends such as Constable Poon and Sheriff Dribble. Among them were a few of his life-long acquaintances, a couple of Lord Viscounts, Marquis and Marquesses. While preparing for their entrances as guests of honor, Elizabeth stepped out of Felicity's room and took a peep downstairs. What she saw made her gulp and go racing back in a flurry of petite but hasty steps.

"Felicity!" she exclaimed breathlessly, quietly closing the door behind her. "There are so many people down there! And they all look so fine! They all look like important people of rank! I've never been to an event where there were so many members of gentry!"

What about those balls you and Annabelle attended when you lived here in England as children? inquired Felicity, amused, from her seat at her room's dresser.

Elizabeth gave a dismissive wave of her white lace-gloved hand. "Oh bosh! Those were nothing compared to this! Annabelle loves to exaggerate, as I'm sure you already knew. I was really too young to remember much of them, and what I _do _recall was only remaining present long enough to make polite greetings to whomever Father introduced us to, then we were either whisked back upstairs or into another room where other children were playing and told not to be frisky." She wrung her hands nervously. "This is entirely different! We are guests of a highly respected peer of the realm, and being a _duke_, he has very important associates and-"

Elizabeth, take a breath, won't you? Felicity laughed lightly. You will be fine. We all will. Have you considered that because Lord Eric is a kind, generous, sensible man that his 'associates' are bound to be as well? The people he has invited are people he cares about. He would not associate himself with people like the Forsythes, you know.

"Oh, I know. But I cannot help but be anxious! The _last _thing I ever considered in coming here to find you was the possibility of attending a ball! They may be decent, good-natured people down there, but they are _still _English high-society. They will _still _scrutinize our dress, our manners, our speech, everything! What has Lord Eric told them about us? I cannot _help _but worry!"

Felicity grinned over at her. "Well you shouldn't be worried! Ben isn't."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Of _course _not. He's _Ben_."

"Good point."

"And what If Ben goes around looking to rile people up about the war? What if he tells everyone that he's a Captain in Lee's Legion and all that military bragging that soldiers like to do?"

Felicity couldn't help but laugh again, not at Elizabeth specifically, but more at her friend's intense fretting. "Oh I can assure you that Ben will do nothing of the sort! He can be a hot head, that is for certain, but not only does he still maintain a bit of a shy streak, he has also been warned that if he does not present himself as the gentleman I know that he can be, he will indeed be sleeping in a chair-_outside _this room!

Elizabeth stopped her hand-wringing and smiled at Felicity. "And God forbid he should be more than a foot away from you."

"Exactly."

"I'm surprised he is not outside the door this instant, pacing and asking if you will be much longer!"

"I know. He and Arthur should be downstairs awaiting our grand introduction!" She gave Elizabeth an encouraging smile. "Do not fret so, Beth, it will all be fine. I trust the duke completely. Just do as I intend to, and use all of those lessons we learned from dear . Those important people are not made of pewter, you know. They are human beings just as we are. In fact, they are probably as curious about us as we are of them."

Elizabeth came to stand behind Felicity at the dresser to oversee the final touches on Felicity's elegant updo. You sound like Mama. And she quoted, 'If you do not bother the bees, the bees will not bother you.'

"Such sage advice," sighed Felicity with pretend drama.

"Now lets look at you. Ben will absolutely _faint _when he sees you! Arthur will have to assist him in picking up his jaw from the floor when he gets his eyes full of you." She smiled warmly at Felicity's reflection in the vanity mirror. "You look like royalty, Lissie, truly. The blue and gold suits you. You shall have every man in the room begging for a dance!"

Felicity turned red and shook her head with a smile. "Please don't say that, or Ben just might start something after all!" They both chuckled. "Nay, Beth, there is only one man I care to dance with, and that's the man I shall marry. I want tonight to be a new start for us, the beginning of our future together. If I am ever going to get over all that has happened, then I need to make a new start. Clinging to hate and disappointment and mistrust is only hurting me more."

"Now that _is _sage advice," agreed Elizabeth, beaming sentimentally at her. "Stand up, so that I can see if there is anything missing."

Felicity rose and moved away from the dresser. Eizabeth had done her hair up, with perfectly rolled curls on either side of her neck, upon which lay a necklace composed of a few small diamonds, but a center blue sapphire that rested eye-catchingly at the base of her neck. The bodice of the silk blue gown was low, but Felicity knew it would be, and counted on it, to purposely drive Ben out of his mind. The gown itself was of the open-robe style, showing more silky blue trimmed in gold with blue ruffles. The neckline was trimmed in gold lace. as were the embellishments on the arms, the elbows of which had gold lace flowing from them in the most graceful fashion. There were shoes to match. Elizabeth had personally affixed a blue satin bow in the tamed mass of red hair, perfecting Felicity's look of refinement.

"Splenedid!" approved Elizabeth, beaming with pride. "I just couldn't help but think of how envious Annabelle would be if she could see you like this. I believe I shall tell her when we are on speaking terms again."

"I hate that Annabelle took part in Reginald's plans," Felicity said honestly. "I just didn't know she hated me that much."

" 'Twas jealousy, Lissie, always jealousy. I am sorry she is the way she is, but ultimately she has to be the one to live with herself. The Major Basil Crumb will marry her and then they will return to England, and the chances are good that I might not ever see her again. I would hate to part on such a sad arrangement, but 'tis Annabelle who made it that way, not I."

Felicity took Elizabdeth's hand supportively. You have always done the best you could with your sister, Beth. It is not up to you to mend your relationship with her. Time has a very good way of showing us what path lays before us. Let's go down now, shall we? I am most eager to see Ben's reaction. She gave Elizabeth a looking over as well. You look amazing, Elizabeth. But then, you always have.

They hugged, each of them thankful to have the other back in her life once more. It was indeed time to make their entrances now. They dabbed their eyes with hankies then went out of the room, drawing in their breath and trying to suppress their nervousness. Felicity was not quite as nervous as Elizabeth, but she couldn't help but feel excited anyway.

As they came to the top of the staircase, Elizabeth whispered to her gently, "Arthur and I discussed it last night, and we would like very much for you and Ben to marry before we do."

Felicity blinked in surprise. "Beth, that is so very dear of you both! But you needn't-"

No, Felicity, we want this for the both of you. So many terrible things have happened that could have been avoided, things that should have never happened at all, and I feel responsible for part of it, too. Allow me to do this for you, will you? I left specific instructions to my parents before I left Williamsburg to do certain things for me that should be, let us say, _ready _for you and Ben once you return."

Felicity's heart fluttered wildly. "Beth! I don't know what to say!"

Elizabeth grinned happily. "Say you will accept our gift to you, regardless of what it is when you _discover _what it is."

"Yes, I shall gratefully accept your gift! Does...Ben know?"

She chuckled softly at that. No. He has been hard to talk to for the past few months, so I have been unable to tell him squat. I would rather just see the reaction on his face when he finds out along with you what I hav e in store for the both of you.

Felicity was about to reply in amazement, but the sounds of the festive violins and fifes playing downstairs had come to a halt, indicating that the duke was about to make his announcement. Ben and Arthur would be waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

My family and friends, you know that I have had special guests for a season, and it is due to them that I have found inspiration to be among you once more. I have realized that I cannot endure being parted from young Thomas here any longer. Here there were sounds of joyful approval amongst the attendees. You have met these two fine young men here from the American colonies, two of four people I am very happy to call my friends. As for the other two of the four, they are very fine young ladies I am even further happy to introsuce you to: Miss Felicity Merriman and Miss Elizabeth Cole.

At the sound of the clapping, Felicity and Elizabeth began to descend the staircase together, holding thier breath, tensing in preparation for whatever faces they were about to be greeted with. They needn't have worried. As Felicity predicted, Lord Eric had invited only the people who were the most important to him, so therefore they were people of class and warmth, and the two girls found themselves looking upon smiling faces, even grinning faces of approval and delight.

But no two faces were they so eager to see than Ben's and Arthur's. As also predicted, the two of them were open-mouthed, seemingly struck by enchantment as they took in the appearance of the ladies they loved. Arthur, needless to say, was mesmirized by Elizabeth. But Ben was staring with such astonishment and love that he had forgotten to breathe! But the ladies were affected to; Elizabeth was simply beaming at how dapper Arthur looked in royal blue, which well suited his blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. Felicity smiled at Ben proudly, for he looked simply _scrumptious _in the beige ensemble he was wearing. Her own eyes took note of how tight his breeches were; so tight that it showed what excellent thigh muscles he sported. So tight that she could not find a single crease or wrinkle in the fabric.

But rather than continue staring at Ben's breeches and get caught for it, she looked to the party attendees and refined her smile to graciousness. When she and Eiizabeth got to the bottom of the stairs, they faced the duke and curtsied perhaps the most properly they had ever done before. Both Ben and Arthur stepped forward to give their lovely ladies an arm, and Lord Eric nodded his formal greeting to them.

"My dear family and friends, let us rejoice in the happiness I have found with the return of my son and in the four new friends whom I will be escorting back to the American Colonies my very self!"

Felicity gaped at him, momentarily forgetting her manners. But there were other gasps of surprise among the party goers as she and Elizabeth exchanged a surprised look. Lord Eric went on to say, "I have discussed it with my son Thomas here, and we have agreed that we are in desperate need of adventure! We have long been apart due to my own selfish isolation, and we both agree that my brother, Lord Noah, is very much past due a visit!"

There was happy murmuring among the crowd, some who smiled cheerfully and those who smiled, but seemed concerned with sea-faring. With good reason, Felicity mused, recalling her own experience at sea, although at the time she was too consumed with rage, depression _and _powders to give much thought to being afraid of the sea. Felicity was also aware that Ben was staring at her. Nay, she needn't see him to know that his brown eyes were upon her-all over her, in fact- and that he was giving no ear to Lord Eric's announcement whatsoever. She almost wanted to giggle. Almost.

"Now I know some of you will be concerned with my going to sea with my young lad, here, but i assure you we will be sailing with the best, hardiest, _meanest _crew on the waters!" This earned him laughs from some of the men in the crowd, most likely those who knew of the crew he was referring to. "Be content to know that these men would soon as sacrifice themselves than to let anything happen to the man who employs them, _or _his young son! Lord Eric grinned. His good humor fit his appearance: although he wore a powdered wig he was still jovial in his silver on dark green attire, looking most dukely (as Felicity thought) yet festive. Rich. Empowered. _Happy_. Amazing how a man of such rank could look so powerful and yet so vulnerable in his joy. She was most glad for him.

"And now, everyone, let us enjoy the evening, and perhaps the following morning as well, if I do recall how some of you enjoy a breakfast gala was well!" More laughter and "Here here's!" He chuckled pleasantly. "And for those of you who enjoy a challenge in your festivities, the maze is open and torch-lit for any couple who dare to get through it! A prize will be offered for the first to come through!"  
This was met with excitement and renewed enthusiasm as several couples appeared ready to bolt for the rear of the manor, Arthur and Elizabeth included. "Good luck to you who try it!" Lord Eric told them all, his amusement obvious on his face. "May you all have the best of evenings!"

In other words, they were dismissed. Indeed there was a flurry of attendees making for the back doors, leaving behind mostly the older guests, who merely laughed or wandered out patiently to watch from the top of the manor's patio the progress of those who dared the maze. "Felicity, Ben, come along!" called Elizabeth, a flush of pink coming to her cheeks as Arthur pulled her along.

Felicity turned to Ben, who's eyes were still upon her adoringly. "Well, shall we?"

Ben's smile was mischievous, his voice low and husky. We will. I just want you to myself for a while.

"But we are always together," she grinned curiously. "Ever since you arrived."

"And that is the way it shall always be. But I would very much like to dance with you, if you don't mind."

Felicity's eyebrows went up in mild surprise. Ben never cared much for dancing, but there had been that one time he had come to Lady Templeton's Autumn Harvest ball right after joing Harry Lee's cavalry troop that he openly chose to dance with her, and her alone. Now here he was once more, in the home of someone distinguished and ranked, asking her to dance with him. The look of love was in his eyes and she could not refuse. She placed her gloved hand in his open one and he escorted her to the ballroom.

Despite the allure of the maze outside, there were still those who preferred to dance the minuets and waltzes. Felicity could feel eyes upon her as Ben led her out onto the floor with dignity and pride. The music was glorious; piano, flute, viols and harp, all blending into one flowing piece of romantic sound. She had never heard the tune before in her life, but when she found herself looking into Ben's soft brown eyes with helpless attraction, she forgot the sound itself and felt like she was floating in a dream. He gazed at her like she was the only thing in the world that meant anything to him. There was no shade of adolescent Ben here now; it was a man in love, a man who had found his sole purpose for living, his heart's only desire.

This, of all places, was where they were going to find themselves again? She would have never thought it possible. After all that she had been through, feeling that she and Ben were lost to each other forever, this was where they would reconnect. Felicity's mind spun. 'Twas known that many truths revealed themselves upon the dance floor, one of the many reasons many thought dancing to be taboo. But after being desolate for so long, she was finding herself being drawn in by his eyes and his handsome, serious face, and she could not hide the emotion from her own expression: _I really do love you._

They danced for what seemed to be hours before they left the dance floor for refreshment. Ben was well aware of the eyes of male guests upon his fiance, but he kept his annoyance to himself for Felicity's sake. None of those men were the perverted type, but Ben knew looks of wishful thinking when he saw them. He knew when he was the envy of every hot-blooded male in the room. No man dared approach Felicity for a dance as long as he was stuck by her side. His possessiveness was rearing itself again, but Felicity found it rather amusing.

After a while, he took her aside, near the grand staircase, out of the way of speculative eyes and whispered, "I have never danced so much in my life!" His eyes were bright, his face flushed.

"So I noticed!" Felicity agreed breathlessly, holding both of his hands in hers. "I am beginning to wonder if you are the _real _Ben Davidson or an imposter!

Ben laughed good-naturedly. Oh I assure you, my beautiful bride, I am the Ben you have always known. In a softer, more serious voice he added, Aye, Lissie, I _am _the Ben you have always known. The very same Ben you saved out in the woods that time I ran away. The Ben who has loved you from the very first time he met you and later vowed to make you his wife one day. That day is coming, Felicity. And soon. I know it is.

She decided to play coy. "Indeed! You must be quite proud of yourself, seeing as how you have won me over again in such a short time. But I'll wager you will tire of me once we are married and seek challenges elsewhere."

"Absolutely _not_, my beautiful bride," Ben breathed into her ear most confidently. "The adventure will be truly just beginning! Just because I have you officially declared my wife before God and family doesn't mean I can relax. The adventure will be in _keeping _you!"

Felicity drew back, amused but slightly suspicious. "Are you implying that I might be some manner of runaway wife?"

Oh no, not that, not that at all! I meant only that I shall endeavor to make you happy in all things! HIs voice turned softly serious. I will see to it that you are not going ot be sorry that you married me, Lissie.

"Oh, Ben, I could never-"

he soothed huskily, his gaze moving past her toward the rear of the manor. Most everyone who went out to the maze earlier has come back in. Let's you and I try the maze ourselves now.  
"Unchaperoned?" inquired she with a grin.

"Especially."

She giggled under her breath as Ben took her hand firmly encased in his and swiftly but quietly led her out of the mansion. as he had guessed, there seemed to be very few people outside now, having been lured back into the halls for the eating, drinking and dancing. The lively music was immediately less loud than just inside the doors, A few laughing couples passed them on their way in. Ben doffed his hat and Felicity curtsied as much as she could, considering that she was in mid-trot while doing so. Not that anyone cared about formalities this late. She and Ben were off the patio and just outside the entrance of the maze in a matter of seconds.

"Interesting," Ben marvelled, as he looked up at the expertly trimmed hedges. "The greenery looks much taller when you're right up at it, doesn't it?"

agreed Felicity breathlessly, her face illuminated by the strategically posted torches all about the gardens. Distant laughing could be heard from within the maze, an indication that another couple was yet somewhere inlocated within it. The couple probably didn't want to _be _located, either, Felicity mused humorously.

"Ready?" Ben challenged with a beautiful smile that made her heart race.

"Ready!"

He squeezed her hand and they ran in, having to immediately turn left or right after entering. Ben chose left and that's the way they went, not really caring which turns they took as long as they advanced further and further. The excitement of being together, facing a _challenge _together, was exhilarating regardless of what the challenge was. Felicity felt her blood pumping fast, her mind spinning joyously, her feet light and flying as she ran with him, laughing at their own playfulness. Ben was grinning, too, holding on to his tricorn as he towed her along. Eventually they slowed, having indeed ran this way and that without giving their location and direction a single thought.

But then, young couples in love did not wander about in hedge mazes to find their way out directly.

They found themselves at a dead end. They looked at each other and their laughter sputtered goofily. Said Ben, 'Twould appear that I have gotten us lost already!

"Aye, so you have," said Felicity, not at all surprised. She smiled at him slyly.

"Look. Here is us a nice bench to sit down on and think about our situation."

"Wonder why His Grace had a bench installed at a dead end?"

Ben shrugged indifferently. So that lovers could sit down and think about where they are. And before Felicity could reply to that, he was sitting down on the bench, pulling her sideways onto his lap snugly. He smiled up at her mischeviously.

"I assume that being lost is _not _the situation in which you are thinking about? She threw her arms about his neck casually.

"Heavens no."

To prove that, he kissed her straight away, deep and hard, intense and wantonly. She was used to his way of kissing, but the deliriousness and passions he invoked were always overwhelming. It was as if _he _was the one who cast the spell, and she could not fight it, didn't want to. His tongue swept her mouth almost roughly, but his was a roughness she could take. And it was not as if she were a weakling incapable of responding in kind, for she did just that, taking a side of his strong jaw in hand to guide his intensity in the way she wanted.

She found herself having a crazed impulse to tear open his waistcoat and shirt. Instead, she shifted there upon his lap and he groaned with the pleasure that simple little movement of hers caused him. With parted panting lips, she purred sensuously, "Am I causing you frustration, Captain Davidson?"

His brown eyes were glazed with arousal. "Always. I would not have it any other way. I have wanted you forever, loved you for even longer, Lissie..."

She laughed at him, teasingly, sensing her own power to enthrall and torture. "Now Ben, how could you have _possibly _known that I was going to be yours someday?"

"My mind didn't know. But my heart always had a feeling..." He kissed her again, unable to stop himself. His left hand moved down the side of her body, over her hip and along a thigh. Even through the petticoat and dress he could feel the wonderful heat of her skin, a sensation that made his brain spin in his skull. His hand found her knee and gave it a squeeze. That made her melt against him suggestively, which in turn prompted him to kiss her harder. So hard that she wasn't even aware that he was slowly gathering up inches of her skirts with that hand of his as it caressed and wandered over her knee and leg.

When he felt bare leg under his hand, just at her knee, he stopped and she gasped, somewhat coming to her sense. She blinked at him with lazy, green curious eyes. "What are you doing?"

He gulped dryly. She hadn't sounded mad, accusing or frightened at all, Just curious. His reply came in a shaky whisper a mere inch from her own lips. "Would you...let me..._try _something, Lissie?"

"Such as?" She studied his pleading eyes, her heart beat accelerating all the more. He looked so longing, so enamored of her. So desperate to please her.

"I want you to feel the same way I do when the very thoughts of you..._afflict _me." And he added quickly before she could say yes or no, "I want you to know there is so much that is good between us, that I want only to dedicate my life to pleasing you."

"Pleasing me _how_, Ben? In body, in spirit, heart, what?"

"In everything, Lissie. Because you are everything to me. I want you to feel what it is you do to me. May I?"

She cocked her head, gazing at him thinkingly as she held a side of his jaw affectionately. _Can _I trust you, Ben?"

"Always, Lissie. I will never disappoint you again."

"Then touch me."

He gulped and resumed moving his hand firmly but gently up over her knee, slipping under her skirts. His breathing, too, had increased, a sign that he was just as nervous about this as she was. Hesitantly, she let a leg slide slowly off his lap, allowing him to move further up along the inside of her thigh. She held to his shoulders steadily, feeling an intense tingling rush to life in her nether regions, but this did not take her by surprise, for she was accustomed to feeling that sort of reaction when she thought of Ben being intimate with her. Or her with him. Mingled with her nervousness was heated pangs of desire growing stronger with each inch he kneaded and felt of her soft warm skin.

Instictively she stiffened when he had reached further than he'd ever had. It is all right, Lissie, 'tis only me. I swear I will not hurt you.

"I know," she murmured, letting her head rest against the side of his. "Continue."

He felt her leg muscles relax a little more, and his gentle stroking moved her thighs a little more apart. He could feel heart radiating from her very core. It aroused him ferociously, but he dare not push. If she was willing to trust him with his explorative curiosities, then he was determined to remain in control. I love you, he whispered thickly. and with one finger, stroked against her moistened center.

She gasped and shuddered against him, but her sigh was sweet in his ear. Then she inhaled deeply and said into his ear, "Again."

He stroked her again, this time with more pressure, just on the outside of her very entrance, and she inhaled again, making a sort of whimpering sound in her throat, then clenched and relaxed her thigh muscles. "Again."

Eagerly he touched her again, but this time he did not draw away. He moved his finger up and down, feeling her, exploring, and her eyelids fluttered shut as she went a little limper agains him. And then that explorative finger of his _slipped into her, _almost teasingly, testingly. She gasped again, her eyes flying open, her lips parting, but Ben kissed her quick and smoothly. A muffled issued from her thraot once more, but she made no move whatsoever to stop him doing what he was doing. In fact, she released her grip on one of his shoulders and grasped his arm beneath her skirts. In am ove that clearly surprised the both of them, Felicity pulled his wrist at her entrance, forcing him to insert his finger all the way. She moaned pleasuredly against his mouth.

he whispred, mesmirized by her, the beauty of her, her willingness to trust, to explore with him what made her feel good. They kissed hotly, seductively, in a slow hungry rhythm that matched the way she was allowing Ben's touch to stroke. Up and down, in and out, slowly and wanderingly. Ben was barely aware that she had begun rocking back and forth upon his lap gently, as though she herself was unaware of it. His response to that was the insertion of a second finger, adn this time she did not gasp or flinch, but merely whimpered again.

So he began working his fingers with a little more pressure and a little more rhythm. The workings of his tongue kept pace with those of his fingers. She felt a thumb brush through her hair down there, and she pressed down upon his hand with instinctive need. Ben wanted desperately to see where he was touching and how, but he knew damn well that if he were to see her undressed he would lose all control and the sex-hungry beast that lurked just beneath his skin would be unleashed with a fury.

They would have their wedding night to contend with that beast, he decided.

She felt so inviting to him, so hot and so willing that it was a damn struggle to hold himself together. Oh Ben, she sighed, so needily that he could not resist kissing her jaw and neck intensely. She herself was working his wrist in the way that she liked, discovering her own likes with the use of his fingers, which was what he had hoped she would do. Her thighs clenched around his arm suddenly. She gripped his wrist even harder and bore down upon his fingers, gasping, and then he felt it: the rapid throbbing and fluttering of her peak of pleasure, such a amazement to the both of them. She panted helplessly as she released her tension fast and hard, then slumped against him bonelessly, having been shaken to the core with what she had just experienced.

As soon as the throbbing subsided he made to remove his fingers form her body, but was once again surprised by her actions as she stilled his wrist demanindingly. No, don't! she commanded, her voice low and breathless. Not yet. Stay like you are until I...just stay like that a minute.

Ben managed to find his voice. "Did you like that?"

Mmmm, yesss, she exhaled against his neck, the sensation of her breath making every hair on his body rise with erotic longings. What _was _that? What...sort of feeling _is _that?'

Unable to help himself, Ben grinned against her neck. "Lissie, my love, that was what is referred to as a 'pleasure assault,' at least it is by the fellows in the Legion."

Without lifting her head from his she said, "That was...It was..._nice_."

"Nice?" Ben repeated, feeling giddy from having felt her reaction. "That is all?"

"I don't _know _how to describe it. Goodness, Ben, words are failing me just now."

He sighed longingly against her skin. "Now you know something of what I experience whenever even the _thought _of you possesses me until I cannot contain it anymore."

"Oh you poor, poor man."

He chuckled softly. But you know, Felicity, once we are married, these sensations will be even greater, even more pleasurable than this. Well, at least it will after the first time. I hate that you will have to feel pain when I- Blast! I'm sorry. I am ruining the moment, arent I?

This time she raised her head and gazed at him with pleasure-sated sleepy eyes. Her smile was goregeously sloppy. "No, Ben, by no means. 'Tis merely a fact that you are stating. But if great pleasure is to come after a little pain, then it is a pain that I am willing to endure for that brief time. We have the rest of our lives to pleasure each other senseless after that."

He gazed at her with utter amazement. "I love the way your mind works, pretty Lissie. So help me God, you will never regret marrying me!"

I know I won't, she replied softly, sighing with pleasureabe ease as his hand withdrew from her, drawing down a limp thigh and over the fabric of her skirts. He pulled both of her legs securely onto his lap, hugged her tight to him and just sat there with her, revelling in how wonderful her willowy body felt in his possession. He felt as though he'd just made a significant step in making her his. No other man would touch her, no other man could have her, and he'd be damned if any man ever hurt her again. She was more precious to him now more than ever. She just _had _to know that.

"We will be going home day after tomorrow," she murmured at his ear. "It seems to good to be true, doesn't it."

"Felicity Davidson," he told her decidedly, "we have simply _got _to cease this depressing too-good-to-be-true sort of thinking! Nothing can be too good for us, ever. By God, we are _allowed _to have good things happen to us, and often. Look at us, Lissie: I nearly destroyed us because of my own selfishness, Forsythe stole you away and forced a marriage to you that really wasn't a marriage at all, and we are now in each other's arms as we were meant to be once more. We cannot be separated ever again, my girl. Even though I do not trust fate one bit, fate keeps bringing us together. Every day keeps bringing us closer to being married. Why, we could marry right now if you wanted it! But I understand how you feel; about wanting to be at home, surrounded by your family, _our _family, to celebrate and all that..."

Muffled by his own neck, she chuckled lightly.

He inhaled deeply. "And I know you do not want to be with child on the way home. You would be miserable, what with the pitching of the ship and the morning purges. I understand."

"There you go again, saying all perfect things." She raised her head again and grinned sleepily at him. "What man would be so sympathetic to a woman's plight, especially a man that is in a state of constant arousal?"

"Ah, so you noticed." Shyly, he shifted her body so that she was less pressing on his manhood. He cleared his throat, attempting to ignore his protesting need. "A man who has learned his lesson the hard way that his love is by far more meaningful that his lust."

"Blast it all, Ben, I had set my mind to being angry with you for quite some time! But then you go and say things like you are, and you look at me with those-those- _puppy_-_eyes_, and my resolve just melts away like snow before the fire!"

Ben felt a rush of sentimental heat and love course through him and gave her a squeeze. "You have every right to remain angry with me, Lissie, however long you want and even after we are married, too."

She eyed him with sly amusement. "You'd marry an angry woman?"

"Not just _any _angry woman, but an angry _Felicity_. For an angry Felicity is far better than _no _Felicity."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Now you are talking nonsense!"

"Well, I _have _been at sea in the company of Arthur Pratt for a few weeks, you see. He grinned back at her. But nontheless, a man in love will allow nothing to deter him from the attempt to win his lady.

"Oh, do hush!" She rolled her eyes comedically and laughed, "Take me indoors, Ben Davidson, and put me to bed. 'Tis past midnight, I'm sure, and I feel rather..._spent_."

Exhausting, is it not? With little effort, he rose to his feet with her securely in his hold. She laid her head on his shoulder and smiled. And with just as little effort he brought the both of them thorugh the maze as if he knew exactly where to turn. Felicity was too drowsy to inquire about his sense of direction, which if she had he would have had to confess that he'd already figured it out whilest standing upon the patio overlooking the hedges. A man of the Legion was supposed to be a fast problem solver!

When he entered the back of the mansion, Elizabeth and Arthur were coming toward them with curious looks on their faces. Elizabeth took one look at Felicity in Ben's clutches again and rolled her eyes. "Goodness gracious, Ben, you have gone back to carrying her around everywhere again?"

Felicity raised her head and smiled goofily. 'Tis fine, Beth, I told him to. I'm tired and we are going to bid Lord Eric a goodnight before we retire.

Elizabeth gave her a curious look. "Tired already? We were just coming to look for you, for fear that you had gotten stuck in the maze. Lord Eric was asking where you and Ben had gotten to." To Ben she said a little stiffly, "You really ought to put her down before you see the duke, you know. It would be improper to-"

"I know Elizabeth, I know." Ben shrugged. "I am not a _total _lackwit. He put Felicity onto her feet, but she still clung to him happily.

Well, come along, then. She and Arthur led the way back to the ballroom, with Arthur chatting endlessly about the magnificent array of spirits the duke had ordered put out, and how he had sampled each and every one. This was obvious in the deliriously joyful way the blonde Brit moved and hiccupped, but he was no more soused than most of the other attendees, men and women alike. Indeed, many of the guests were either being shown to rooms where they could spend the night, or ordering their transportations brought up outside. But everone was in a good mood, it seemed, which made the fact that it was past midnight not so shocking. Even the duke, having put young Thomas to bed himself, was giddy with liquor and good company.

Ben leaned toward Felicity from the side and whispered, "Apparently the chandelier is not the only grand thing in here pleasantly lit," and Felicity cackled outrageously, which in turn had Ben laughing good naturedly himself.

And so it was that Lord Covington greeted his four guests of honor again with gushing warmth and happiness, and they bid him goodnight with curtsies and bows, which delighted what remaining guests were left in the ballroom. Bur as soon as Ben and Felicity were back at the foot of the deserted staircase, he scooped her up like a boneless doll again and took her upstairs, as was her original wish, and this time she did not scold him for doing the legwork for her.

There were times when she _didn't _mind being pampered.

"We're going home, Felicity," Ben whispered to her, as they went to bed at last. "We are really going home. You will be reunited with your family and then we _will _be married. Our dreams _are _going to come true, and we deserve to have it so."

"Yes, Ben, I agree." She yawned as she snuggled into his open arms and allowed him to wrap her up tight. His heart was still beating rapidly in his chest. She smiled sleepily, hoping that his predictions were truly going to come to pass. Yet something nagged at her, something about the future she couldn't quite figure out, but she was bound to figure it out in the coming weeks.

* * *

**Author's Babble**: For **Emma Rose**, I liked your idea for 'Canon In D Major'! It's a lovely piece of music and I am considering using it! A very good suggestion indeed! Also, you guys don't forget that this month (the 15th, I believe) the DELUXE edition of the Felicity movie comes out. I would certainly like to know what all that includes, in detail. If anyone knows, let _me _know, because I love DVD goodies, and if there's a possibility of seeing more of Kevin Zegers as Ben, then I'll be willing to fork over the money. Otherwise I'll be happy with the DVD I already have.

For some reason I cannot get the link to the picture of Felicity's gown I had in mind for this chapter to post, so I will tell you that it was made by the magnificently talented AlAlNe, and you can see more of her work at her page on deviantart. It is called '18th Century Gown update', it is blue and gold and gorgeous!


	33. Chapter 33:Leaving Bel Hall

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE PT3 CH33: Leaving Bel Hall

The following morning Lord Eric went out on his morning ride and was gone for quite sometime. None of the servants thought this particularly odd, because many times he was known to have visited Squire Babcock or any number of the servants whose families lived on the extent of his property. Maggie was busy over-seeing breakfast for all late risers and guests that had stayed overnight, and young Thomas, having missed the lovingly fussy headmaid of the house, wanted to be helpful in the kitchen. Among the kitchen staff, any extra help, even that of a near six-year-old, was joyfully welcomed. No one had even thought it strange that Lord Eric had not included Thomas in his ride that morning, as he had been doing since the lad's return.

Felicity, Ben, Elizabeth and Arhur were having breakfast with several of the duke's guests after sleeping in so late, but after last night's merriment, no one was surprised that there had been so many late risers. _Or _so many hangovers. But this gave Maggie the opportunity to serve her hangover remedy to all who were willing to ingest it: Dandelion tea with boiled egg and large strips of bacon. Arthur Pratt, being one of the worst hung, nearly turned green when his plate of eggs and bacon was sat before him. Both Ben and Felicity had to work at not guffawing or giggling at him. After all, he _was _in a state of nausea. But his face beheld such a look of utter queasiness that made any resistance to hilarity almost impossible.

"Eat, , it'll do ye good," encouraged Maggie, waiting and watching. At her side was young Thomas, who had taken a liking to Arthur and the blond Brit's comedic ways, watching with fascination to see if did as he was told.

"B-B-But I am already feeling better," lied he, looking green.

"Oh bother, Arthur, just eat it," commanded Elizabeth, sitting beside him. "All you have had in your stomach is drink!"

Arthur's chin trembled. "I-I-I suppose I should. Perhaps if I purge I shall feel lots better."

"Do it, man!" This came from the likeable Viscount Klosterfuch, who sat on the other side of Arthur, happily hung himself. He was a burly-built man wearing spectacles and a white wig, slightly askew , but no one really cared about things like that when headaches and nausea were running rampant among the rueful party attendants at the table. "If you can hold your liquor you can hold your bile!"

"Please do not say 'bile', my Lord," muttered Arthur queasily. He picked up his glass of dandelion tea, gave it an unfriendly look, and to those who sat near to him, said, "To all hearty drinkers and those of their kidney. May we live to regret all intoxications." Groggy murmurs of "Here here" followed his meager toast and he swallowed the dark contents of the glass in four gulps.

Those on his end of the table watched curiosly for reaction. Arthur sat down his empty glass then took a bite of egg with bacon. Those close to him watched his throat work as he swallowed forcefully. He stiffened as though he'd been nudged hard from behind, then slowly relaxed, his mouth forming a queasy smile to match his queasy face. "I am happy to report that my stomach has accepted the bite it was sent, although reluctantly."

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Feeling triumphant and showing it, Maggie gave a curt, satisfactory nod and returned to the kitchen. Elizabeth patted Arthur's shoulder. "You'll be set to rights once you have Maggie's good cooking in you."

Felicity and Ben exchanged a meaningful look, _meaning _they were both aware of how married Elizabeth and Arthur already seemed to be, and they both found it sweet and dear. Beneath the table cloth, Ben took Felicity's closest hand and gave it a squeeze.

Lazlo entered the dining room, looking official and urgent. Without arousing too much notice from those eating, he came all the way to Felicity's end of the table, leaned close to her ear and said, "Miss Merriman, Lord Covington wishes to see you in the foyer immediately. 'Tis rather important."

Felicity at once looked compliant. "Thank you, Lazlo, I shall come at once." She dabbed her mouth with a napkin, then realized Ben was on his feet, holding the chair for her. He had heard? Well of course he had, she mused absently, rising quietly. _He is Ben! Obviously he is going to go wherever I go, so I cannot be surprised, the loveable hot-head. _Ben took her arm and escorted her out behind Laz. Elizabeth gave them a curious look, having sensed something going on, but remained seated where she was, thinking it too improper to leave when unasked. But she resigned herself to worry until she could find out why her friends were exiting the dining room with discreet haste.

"The duke has returned from his ride rather late, hasn't he?" Felicity inquired as they swept out into the connecting hall. "Everything is all right, isnt it?"

"You shall see, Miss Felicity," replied Lazlo, giving her a secretive smile.

Puzzled, Felicity did not know what to make of the butler's mysteriousness, and she was even more dumbfounded when she entered the foyer and saw Lord Eric standing at the bottom of the staircase, tricorn and riding crop in hand, still clad in his riding attire. His face beheld a cryptic smile as he watched her and Ben approach. She curtsied, Ben bowed briefly, but Eric said serenely, "There is no need for formalities at this welcome time. I have a surprise for you, Miss Felicity."

Felicity gulped dryly, looking uncertain. Once upon a time, she had loved receiving surprises. These days, most of the surprises she experienced were not pleasant one; even Ben's unexpected arrival had been tainted with negative fellings. Although she was feeling more forgiving of Ben now, she was still uncertain of the future. But she was facing yet another surprise at this moment, unsure of what was to happen next.

Lord Eric smiled cryptically. "I do believe you know this person..."

Only when he said that did Felicity notice there was someone standing at a framed picture of an Italian landscape, apparently having previously been looking at it. The person was indeed familiar: a turbaned head and dark skin: Lettie!

Felicity gasped, her mouth dropping open and tears filling her eyes. Even as she flew to the dark girl, crying out her name, Lettie was already staring at her with those familiar mysterious black eyes and typical blank expression. When Felicity flung her arms around her she slowly responded in kind, with arms stiff from being unaccustomed to being embraced and embracing in return. But Feelicity hugged her tightly and cried quietly upon the girl's shoulder and said, "Oh how I've worried about you! I went back to the Forsythe house and looked for you while Tristan was being arrested! Where have you been? Are you well? Oh say something, Lettie, please!"

It took her a minute to find her voice, but Lettie did indeed speak softly, in that quiet voice and equally mysterious accent, "You are _still _a strange white woman."

Felicity laughed through her tears, stepped back to look Lettie in the face with a radiant smile. "I defy you to find any white person stranger than I!"

"You are well?" Lettie asked curiously. "You are no longer suffering from the powders?"

Ben cringed, feeling quite guilty again.

"No, Lettie, I am fine now. But they certainly took a lot out of me. I don't want to talk about me, though. Tell me about you! What happened, you know, after that night..."

Lettie shrugged lightly. "I expected to die or to be killed by one white man or another. But Tristan, he passed out from the smoke and the shock of being burned. No one could get in to save him because fire was consuming both ends of the barn after you left. I took my chances and ran through the flames. I, too, would have rather been burnt to death than return to that house. My clothing caught on fire as I climbed over the beam that had fallen between us, but I ran out of the barn and dropped to the ground. My action put the flames out before I could be harmed. Then I just resumed running, but I did not go far. The white men were more concerned with finding you thatn they were me."

"My friends tell me there was a reward offered for the both of us," Felicity told her darkly.

"But it is we who reap a reward, do you not agree, Felicity? We have escaped, though not as we had planned."

"And we are together again!" She gripped Lettie's shoulders dearly. "Will you not come home with me, Lettie? We leave tomorrow. Please, come with me!"

"I suppose," shrugged Lettie, attempting indifference when it was obvious to Felicity that the dark girl was trying not to smile _too _much. "I have no where else to go."

"Oh, that's wonderful! So help me, Lettie, you are a free black and you will have a job and a place to live, and-oh! I must introduce you to my fiance, Ben Davidson! Ben, come here."

Ben stepped forward, smiling warmly, trying to convey to the suspicious-eyed Lettie the fact that he was a friend, not a foe. Apparently. the girl did not trust anyone white outside of Felicity. But Ben was grateful to her, and he wanted her to know it.

"Is this the man who abandoned you?" Lettie inquired passively to Felicity.

Again, Ben cringed with raging guilt inside. So Felicity had spoken of him in her anger and despair. She'd had every right to believe the worst of him: he had treated worse than Forsythe had that day.  
Felicity swallowed hard and replied "Well, yes, he is...but he is sorry for what he had done, and I am in the process of putting all of that behind me." She looked at Ben with hopeful eyes.

"Even though I do not deserve her forgiveness, nor do I deserve her love, but I would cease to exist without them both," spoke Ben in total agreement and humbleness. He made a very proper bow before Lettie and smiled at her generously. "You saved the life of my Lissie. Therefore you have saved _my _life as well! I am endebted to you, always. I am at your service, Lettie."

Lettie looked at Felicity like this was one of the most bizzare things she'd ever seen. A white man bowing to _her_. Said Felicity with a wry grin, "And you thought _I _was strange? Just you wait, Lettie, you are about to meet even more strange white folks!"

The dark girl's expression was saying what her voice did not: Is this for real? Felicity turned to the duke, who'd been watching with a pleasant look on his face, and asked in amazement, "Oh how were you able to find her, my lord? I was beginning to think it was impossible!" She looked back at Lettie. "I did not want to leave England without you, but the longer you remained unlocated the more it looked like you would never be found! I had so hoped that you were not at Forsythe manor and had escaped into the countryside and was able to get far, far away!"

"I went back to Forsythe Manor this morning myself," said Lord Eric, strolling over to them. "I spoke to that elderly black butler, Pompey. Now that Reginald is dead and Tristan in custody, he felt it was finally safe to disclose Miss Lettie's whereabouts. Turns out she did not go far from the Manor after all, for Pompey was able to sneak her out food and clothing. She was waiting to hear what had become of _you _after the barn fire."

Felicity gave Lettie a look of such warmth and gratitiude that Ben was moved to simply beam at her.

"Now that we are away from that house of demons, it would be best that we do not look back," Lettie suggested in her familiar stony way.

Lord Eric smiled kindly at her. "Miss Lettie, you are a free woman and a guest in my house. Anything you wish I shall see it done, you need only name it."

She looked at Felicity and said, "I wish only to sleep for a while."

Maggie had entered the foyer, which had become nicely lit with the sunlight making the skylight dazzlingly white above them. Apparently Lettie had thought this unusual, as Felicity had at first, for neither one of them had ever seen a skylight before. Maggie was always proud to see guests marvel at it. She curtsied amicably before Lettie, who looked Maggie up and down, yet again taken by surprise by a white person's behavior towards her. "I can show you to a private room, Miss, if sleep is what you desire."

"It is," said Lettie curiously. She looked to Felicity again, and Felicity grinned and nodded vigorously.

"I can have breakfast sent up to you, too, if you are hungry?"

Lettie's 'This is too good to be true' expression was nearly turning comical, so Felicity hooked her arm through the dark girl's and said, "Come, Maggie, let us show my friend the true nature of the English!" To Lettie she said, "Not all of us whites are brutes. And if you give Maggie a moment, she will fuss over you as if you were one of her own!"

" 'Tis true," agreed Maggie, clasping her hands modestly atop her aproned belly. "All who enter this house are my charges. Even those hungover sots in the dining hall." She jerked her head in the direction of the hall. " 'Tis quite ridiculous, Miss! If you whisper, they think you are yelling at them, and they all moan of their heads about to split like summer melons!"

The duke lifted his chin with dead-panned pride. "I refuse to let it be said that I do not keep a well-stocked cabinet," he declared of his wines.

Then, as if on cue, a still queasy-looking Arthur Pratt ambled in with Elizabeth at his side, holding his arm more in support than in companionship. "Dear God," said he, shaking his blond head in hung-over remorse, "Never again shall I drink bourbon! It is the drink of the devil, Beth. Oh blast, is this not the brightest moon you have ever seen?"

"We are in the sky-light of the foyer, Arthur," Soothed Elizabeth sympathetically. "And it is nearly noon. Look, here are Felicity and Ben."

"Must you holler so, dearest?" whined Arthur, wincing pitifully.

Elizabeth bit her botton lip in an effert not to scold.

"Elizabeth! Arthur! Come here and meet Lettie! She is coming home with us!" Felicity bubbled happily. Ben hadn't seen her so happy since he had reunited with her. "Lettie, these are my friends Elizabeth Cole and Arthur Pratt. They are as firmly against slavery as I am." Felicity watched smilingly as Elizabeth curtsied and Arthur, despite his aching head and sensitive eyes, bowed, but then had to clutch his stomach upon straightening up too fast. Lettie nodded to them, unwilling to extend her trust of white people beyond Felicity right now. Felicity assumed the dark girl was overwhelmed by all of this already, on top of being found and brought here by a white man of rank.

" 'Tis an honor to meet you," Elizabeth said to her amicably. "We have heard so much about you! Felicity did not want to leave unless you came too, Lettie. Please accept our gratitude for saving our dearest friend."

Lettie merely nodded again.

"Come along, my dear," urged Maggie warmly. "Let us get ye settled. The ship leaves tomorrow, and you never know when you will be able to sleep on a soft, stable mattress again without getting tossed about."

"Amen, Miss Maggie," muttered Arthur with sickly dread, thoughts of being pitched and thrown upon the waves in a ship dwarfed by the mighty sea making his already churning stomach churn even more.

Lord eric grinned approvingly at Felicity as she accompanied Maggie and Lettie up the stairs.

Immediately, of course, Ben began to follow.

"Oh, you needn't come, too, Ben," Felicity assured him sweetly, turning around a little to look at him. "I shant be long."

"But-"

"Truly, Ben, I'll be back down soon. I am only going upstairs with Maggie and Lettie. I'll be fine!"

Ben looked skeptical. He did not like it when she was out of his sight, it made him extremely nervous. Just because she was in the house of the duke and safe from anyone named Forsythe, Ben did not trust fate. Lettie glanced at Felicity like her impression of Ben was that he was mad. Felicity merely smiled tolerantly.

She liked it when he had to squirm.

* * *

In a small but pleasantly decorated green and cream-colored room, Lettie sat at the foot of a very large bed looking around as the pale sunlight filtered through gauzey white curtains. Felicity herself had seen to it that the curtains were drawn back as much as possible. Lettie stared at her a moment, then said, "The young white man...you will marry him?"

Felicity sighed softly. "Yes, Lettie, I will."

"Even though he had hurt you?"

She nodded slowly. "I love him. I _have _loved him ever since I was a child. He knows he treated me horribly, and he continues to torture himself over it. I have forgiven him, but the memory still lingers. I don't quite know what to do about that, either. I just know that I want so badly for things to go back to the way they were...yet I am not convinced Ben will never do anything like that to me again."

"You must not marry if you are uncertain," advised Lettie wisely.

Felicity sat down beside Lettie. "I know. It is so good to have you back with me-or am I back with _you_? I hope I always have you to advise me. The trip home will be dangerous and lengthy, I'm afraid. But it will give me more time to know that I am making the right decisions. I feel like a completely different person than the girl who Forsythe snatched away from Williamsburg."

"Of course you are different. You cannot endure a trauma and not be changed in some way or another." Lettie's dark mysterious eyes beheld a wisdom far beyond her years. "You either break or you perservere. Which do you think?"

Felicity thought about it. "Perservere," she said at length. "I am not a weakling. I am no one's fool anymore." She rolled her eyes and made a sound of frustration. "Just listen to me, Lettie: here I am going on about my woes, and you have just been found! Will you not tell me how you have been?"

Lettie shrugged as if there was nothing to tell. "I was pefectly fine once I was away from the manor. I went a distance, then eventually crept back so that I could see what was going on and contact Pompey. He was able to sneak food to me and I even found a way into the abandoned smoke house."

"Really!"

"Yes. None of the white men knew what to make of the old smoke house once the new one was built, and there were other things to keep them occupied. They were not giving much attention to a small building with all else they had to contend with."

"God bless that Pompey."

"Yes, I agree."

A sound outside the door got their attention. "Well, that is either Ben pacing to and fro or one of the maids with your lunch, or maybe even Ben _with _your lunch! Either way, I will stay in here and eat with you. I've missed you terribly."

"And I must admit I missed _your _presence as well," Lettie confided, although expressionlessly. "You make me laugh."

Felicity cocked an eyebrow. "_You _laugh? Why, Lettie, am I flattered. I promise I will do my best to keep you entertained henceforth."

The mysterious dark girl smiled crookedly, a gesture which few ever saw, and was reserved for a very scant few at that. It made Felicity grin. "Let's have lunch!" she declared.

* * *

Felicity did not emerge from Lettie's room until late afternoon, when Lettie had ate, they had talked all they could, and the dark girl needed to get some decent rest. Felicity told Lord eric that despite his gracious hospitality, Lettie still felt uncomfortable around so many upper-class white folks, and opted not to come down to dine with them. Eric understood immediately, sympathetic soul that he was. Some of his late wife's family hesitated in leaving, for they were very concerned that he was taking young Thomas so far away, and by ship on top of that. Of course they were all happy that he had his son back, but Evangeline's family was not eager to lose Eric or Thomas at sea. He talked with them a while in his library, and finally convinced them that he and Thomas would indeed return.

It was nine o'clock when Ben finally got Felicity alone to himself again, and he took full advantage of it, kissing her long and hard, with a great deal of passion and longing. He undid her stays and turned down the bed linens. She simply smiled pleasantly and allowed him to kiss and caress wherever he pleased. Into her ear he murmured sweet, loving words of devotion and stroked her hair as she lay in his arms. In his protective embrace.

"We're leaving for home tomorrow, Ben," she whispered in amazement to him, there in the near dark of their room. The fireplace had a small fire still going in it. "Soon I shall see my family again. It is really going to happen."

"Aye," he agreed sleepily. "And soonafter, we will be married. At last."

Felicity smiled just as sleepily. "Is that all you can think about, Captain Davidson?"

"Well...no. I _have _been thinking about last night in the maze..."

"Me too." Her drowzy reply took Ben by surprise. She continued with "I've been thinking about that all day, too. Amazing, wasn't it?"

"Oh indeed," Ben agreed, grinning. He was feeling quite manly as well as proud of himself. "Once we are married, I am going to pleasure you until you are senseless!"

"I shall enjoy that." She snuggled against him sensuously, then actually chuckled in spite of herself.

"What," Ben encouraged.

"Oh nothing. I just realized you have been poking me with your, er, _knee _for the past few nights again."

If the room had enough light, she could have seen Ben turn bright red had she lifted her head. And she would have seen that there were still traces of his adolescent shyness despite having been a soldier for as long as he had.

"Ben?" she inquired, having noticed his shy silence.

"Yes?"

"I just wondered if you had fallen asleep already."

He gave her a squeeze. "No, pretty Lissie, not yet. I'm sorry if my, um, _knee _is annoying you. I just can't seem to help it when you are close to me. Hell, I cannot help it when you're _not _close to me, either!"

"What am I to do with you, Benjamin Davidson?"

"Marry me, so that I can spend the rest of my life making you happy. In the bedchamber _and _outside of it. Marry me and make me the happiest man alive."

Her voice turned sweetly soft. "Why, Ben, I have told you that I would marry you. I have told you that a lot lately."

"I know, I just dont want you to think you _have _to. I mean, Lord, I'd die without you, Lissie, but I dont want you to be miserable married to me. I dont want you to be unhappy because of me ever again."

One of her hands, wearing its soft, lace fingerless glove to conceal her scars, slipped inside his mostly unbuttoned white sleep-shirt and laid upon his heart. "Ben, I am learning to trust in you again, and I think my heart is on the mend. But I do not trust fate any more than you do. Thoughts of the future actually terrify me. I suppose that if I can make peace with everything that has happened to me I can feel secure about our future _together_. I hope you can understand that."

"I do, love," he reassured her gently, kissing the top of her mussed red head. "Take all the time you need. I will be here. I will never leave you."

This produced from her a contented sigh, and she allowed herself to finally drift off to sleep. Thoughts of boarding the ship to take her home were both exciting and anxious. But it was really going to happen! She'd be with Ben all the way home. And Elizabeth, Arthur, Lord Eric and Lettie. It had become a typical reaction to instantly doubt that anything good would ever happen to her again, but now she felt strong about getting back home to her family.

It _was _going to happen.

Constable Poon was there in the morning, speaking with Lord Eric, who had taken young Thomas with him on his ride earlier before breakfast. Eric relayed that Lazlo was in charge of the estate until he returned, and some of his late wife's family would be staying as well (and that was more for Maggie's sake, so that she would have people to tend to and fuss over). Felicity was neck deep in tearful goodbyes with Maggie and the Babcock children, the latter of which demanded letters from her as often as she could. It moved Ben to see that she had made such attachments during her stay here, and that not everything she had experienced was horrible. Aye, there were good people in England, just as there were good people to outnumber the bad all over the world, Ben Davidson assumed peacefully.

The duke's grand carriage was not strong enough to be laden with all that was being taken, so stable boys loaded a wagon to follow the carriage. Eric had been gracious in allowing Felicity and Elizabeth some of Evangeline's lovely clothes to take with them. He had even offered Lettie some dresses, too, but the dark girl politely refused, maintaining that white women's wear was not to her liking. That in her land, women wore very little above the waist, aside from neck adornments, which had everyone flabbergasted and awed. Lettie did, however, accept the blouses and lesser-confining skirts that Maggie offered.

The group knew the duke was taking things to his younger brother in Newfoundland, but what they didn't know was that he was taking certain other things meant as gifts for a certain bride and groom's wedding.

Once Felicity was able to detatch herself from Poppy, Pudding, Rex, and Marvel-Anne Babcock, she had Mrs. Unguin Babcock's emotional hugs to contend with. But this, too, came in time. Felicity actually felt like she was leaving behind a second family, an adopted group of people whom she didn't expect to be so sad in leaving. She was actually leaning out of the carriage window she sat beside of, waving and laughing through tears as the carriage began to roll along. Eventually, Ben had to gently pull her back inside lest she get bounced right out of the window by the unkind road.

"I know I will probably never see them again," Felicity sniffed with a sad smile as Ben took one of her hands in both of his. "But they will always be in my heart."

"And they know that," the duke told her sympathetically from where he sat across from Ben. "You will always be in theirs, Miss Felicity. And as for the children..." He grinned with soft amusement. "...they will never forget that they befriended a wingless faerie princess."

Felicity blushed profusely while Elizabeth and Arthur laughed heartily, Ben kissed her cheek, and Lettie looked mystified. As the carriage rattled on, both Arthur and Lettie fell asleep, their heads rolling back and to the side, Elizabeth engaged Lord Eric in talk of England and how in the time she had spent here she never once gave thought to visiting old acquaintances in Lancashire. all she had thought of was finding Felicity and bringing her home. She mused that no one that knew her family in Lancashire would probably even recognize her now, all grown up. Felicity gave her a supportive, warm smile.

It was getting close to evening when they arrived at the Bristol quays to board thier ship. It would be a clear, moon-lit night, but the ship they were to board would not weigh anchor until first light. All preparations were finished.

It was time to go home at last.

* * *

End of Part 3 (Thank God)

So, I'm starting on Part 4 as we 'speak.' I really don't want to call it 'Part 4' but what else _could _I call it? Makes sense, doesn't it? Anyways, the deluxe edition of the Felicity movie comes out this Tuesday, so check it out!


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